OR  THE 


WCIIW 
P;jAnEsJKANElJ.S.N. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


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ILIAN; 


OR,   THE 

CURSE  OF  THE  OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH 

OF  BOSTON. 
A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  TALE  OF  THE  LATE  CIVIL  WAR, 


BY 

CHAPLAIN^  JAMES  J.  KANE, 

UNITED  STATES  NAVY, 

AUTUOB  OF  "  ADRIFT  ON  THE  BLACK  WILD  TIDE," 


PHIIiADELPHIA: 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

LONDON:  10  HENRIETTA  STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN. 

1888. 


Copyright,  18S8,  by  James  J.  Kane. 


All  rights  reserved. 


^llNTER£CTYr"rPSANPP'-'it^  I  tKs1[|> 


X. 


-^U^^r-rr^/si^^  ^/{.  "'n^.  --TLc 


^JL'^^^/-^,-^^^ 


With  the  :jhccial  Complim&nts 
oj  the  Author. 


a^, 


THIS    BOOK 


IS  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED,  WITH  THE  AUTHOR'S  BEST  WISHES, 


TO   HIS   HIGHLY   ESTEEMED   FRIEND, 


DR  DAVID  J.  HILL,  LL.D , 

PRESIDENT   OF   THE   TNIVEUSITY   OF   ROCHESTER,    N.  Y.  ;    LATE   PRESIDENT   OF 
BUCKNELL   VNIVERSITY,    LEWISBUKG,    PA. 


602978 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2009  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/ilianorcurseofolOOkane 


INTEODUCTIOIsr. 


This  volume  is  the  narration  of  a  great  crime  and  the 
punishment  meted  out  to  the  guilty.  I  do  not  hold  myself 
in  any  way  bound  to  explain  the  problems  presented  in  this 
work  ;  the  deductions  are  left  to  the  reader.  I  have  reason 
to  believe  that  very  few  books  can  claim  to  have  been  written 
in  so  many  places  where  these  pages  were  prepared. 

1  began  it  on  an  ocean  steamer,  after  leaving  New  York  ; 
continued  it  in  my  hotel  in  Liverpool,  Manchester,  London, 
Paris,  Naples  ;  went  on  with  it  on  board  of  the  U.  S.  flag-ship 
"  Pensacola,"  when  we  visited  Messina,  Malta,  Alexandria, 
Jaffa,  Beyrout,  Smyrna,  Constantinople,  Syra,  Athens,  Leg- 
horn ;  and  at  a  number  of  places  visited  when  away  on  leave ; 
also,  on  my  return,  in  Genoa,  Nice,  and  Palermo ;  again  at 
Malta,  on  our  winter  tour,  and  once  more  in  Alexandria  and 
Cairo,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Pyramids,  and  by  the  banks 
of  the  Nile.  In  Jerusalem,  on  my  second  visit,  I  had  leisure 
to  write  on  Mt.  Olivet,  under  the  shade  of  the  olive-trees 
overlooking  the  historic  city.  Having  joined  my  ship  at 
Athens,  amidst  the  ruins  of  the  Temple  of  the  Virgin  God- 
dess Athena,  on  the  Acropolis,  I  went  on  with  my  appointed 
task  ;  also  during  a  month's  stay  at  Nice  and  Spezzia.  In  my 
hotel  on  Mt.  St.  Gothard  in  Switzerland  I  drew  inspiration 
from  the  snow-capped  hills,  rearing  their  lofty  peaks  thou- 
sands of  feet  above  me.  I  came  back  to  Leghorn  to  join  the 
"  Pensacola,"  and  there  finished  the  principal  part  of  this  work. 
Few  persons,  except  they  have  had  a  practical  experience  of 
such  a  life,  can  apprehend  the  difficulty,  on  board  of  a  large 
ship-of-war,  with  over  four  hundred  men  as  her  complement, 
of  composing  one's  mind  for  literary  work.  Ten  days'  sojourn 
out  on  an  ocean  steamer  is  as  much  as  most  people  can  endure. 
If  it  were  prolonged  for  months  and  years,  the  difficulty  of 
bringing  one's  mind  down  to  the  composition  of  matter  for 
public  perusal  would  be  experienced.  Then  again,  the  excite- 
ment of  visiting  so  many  interesting  places,  some  of  them  for 
the  third  and  fourth  time,  where  friendships  are  formed,  read- 
ing and  becoming  posted  in  reference  to  all  their  historic 


C  I.\  TR  on  UCTION. 

points,  receiving  and  returning  social  calls,  the  daytime  occu- 
pied with  sight-seeing,  leaves  only  the  midnight  hour  for  the 
product  of  the  pen. 

I  feel  that  this  has  been  detrimental  to  the  literary  part  of 
the  book.  It  is  sent  out  to  hold  its  own  or  to  be  consigned 
to  oblivion,  as  it  shall  seem  to  its  readers  to  deserve. 

The  crime  of  Professor  Homerand  is  a  common  one,  and 
no  man  who  takes  advantage  of  the  confidence  of  a  woman 
can  expect  to  escape  retribution.  God  may  be  slow  in  our 
estimation  in  executing  judgment,  but  it  will  surely  come, 
with  its  force  heightened  by  apparent  delay. 

The  persons  named  in  this  book  are  characters  whose 
identity  will  not  be  divulged.  There  are  officers  of  the  U.  S. 
Navy  now  living  who  have  known  the  original  of  Ilian,  and 
were  brought  under  her  fascinating  powers.  Very  often  I 
have  heard  her  described  as  the  "  beautiful  rebel." 

The  original  of  Adrien  Homerand  is  recorded  on  the  books 
of  the  Navy  Department  as  having  died  from  yellow-fever ; 
let  him  rest  undisturbed. 

The  name  of  the  University  for  whose  presidential  chair 
the  great  crime  was  committed  I  have  thought  best  to  con- 
ceal. There  were  several  such  institutions  in  1840  whose 
presidency  was  considered  a  great  honor. 

The  fifth  and  sixth  books  are  from  my  personal  experience. 
The  psychological  incidents  mentioned  are  not  uncommon,  and 
experiences  far  more  thrilling  and  out  of  the  range  of  ordinary 
events  are  well  corroborated.  The  episode  in  the  second  chap- 
ter of  the  fifth  book  was  due  to  the  morphia  which  had  been 
administered  to  me  without  my  knowledge.  The  experience 
which  is  delineated  as  having  taken  place  under  the  shadow  of 
the  old  South  Church  in  Boston,  at  midnight,  on  the  fateful 
15th  of  November,  may  have  been  the  result  of  an  over  excited 
brain.     My  readers  must  judge  for  themselves  on  this  point. 

With  this  brief  introduction,  I  ask  those  who  take  this 
book  in  hand  to  follow  out  to  the  end  the  history  of  Pro 
fessor  Homerand  and  all  concerned  with  him.  If  one  man 
or  one  woman  is  made  happier  for  the  perusal,  I  will  be  well 
repaid  ior  my  labor. 

James  J.  Kane. 

Unitkd  States  flag-ship  "  Pknsacola," 
At  Sea,  Homk.ward  Bound,  February  15,  ISSS. 


The  author  begs  leave  to  introduce  to  liis  readers  the  fol- 
lowing characters,  with  whom  he  trusts  they  will  become 
better  acquainted  as  the  book  is  read. 

Professor  George  Homer  Home  rand,  of  Boston. 

Judge  William  Kathmine,  of  Boston. 

Mrs.  H.  Eathmixe,  of  Boston. 

Miss  Martha  Eathmine,  of  Boston. 

Miss  HELE>f  Clatmuire,  of  South  Carolina. 

Adrien  Homeraxd,  Acting  Master,  XJ.  S.  Navy. 

Dr.  Henry  Eechard,  Surgeon,  Confederate  Army. 

Captain  Thomas  Jeffords,  South  Carolina  State  Battery. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Yerdere. 

Miss  Iliax  Mordine,  head  of  the  secret  service.  Confederate 

Government,  Southern  Dept. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joseph  Eendeem,  of  Pifth  Avenue,  New  York. 
Miss  Alice  and  3Iiss  Edith  Eendeem. 
Colonel  Egbert  Hortense,  of  Confederate  secret  service. 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ormond,  of  New  Orleans. 
Captain  Bill  Harrison,  the  blockade-runner. 
Mrs.  Harrison. 
Sam,  the  slave. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edward  Homerand. 

Also,  officers  of  the  army  and  navy  of  the  Union  and  of  the 
Confederate  service,  and  others. 


CO^TE]^TS. 


BOOK  I.— 1840. 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I. — The  Professor 13 

II.— The  Choice 15 

III.— The  Decision 19 

IV. — In  the  Balance 22 

Y. — After  the  Battle 25 

VI. — The  Spirit  of  the  Ked  Wine 29 

VII. — Sowing  to  the  Wind 32 

VIII. — The  Curse  of   the  Old  South  Church    ...  35 

IX.— Brain  Fever 40 

X. — Drifting  Apart 45 

XI. — Marriage  Bells 49 

XII  —Fall  of  Two  Idols 53 

XIII. — How  THE  Problem  was  solved 57 

XIV.— Ked-Letter  Day 60 

XV.— Adbien 64 


BOOK  II.— 1861. 

I. — The  Spirits  Abroad 69 

II. — Union  vs.  Disunion .  72 

(   III. — Hannibal's  Oath 76 

IV. — Father  Murphy     .    .  * 80 

V. — A  Vision  of  the  Past 84 

VI. — Repentance 88 

VII.— The  War  Fever 92 

VIII.— The  Union  Navy 95 

IX. — Meeting  of  the  Waters 99 

X. — Champion  for  the  South 103 

XI.— Ship  Ahoy.    .    .    ."^. 108 

XII. — West  Gulf  Squadron Ill 

XIII.— New  Orleans 116 

XIV.— The  Great  Conspiracy 121 

XV.— The  Temptation      125 

XVI.— The  Fatal  Obligation 130 

XVII. — The  Power  of  a  Single  Word 135 

9 


10  C0^' TEXTS. 

BOOK  III.— 1863. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — G-ROSVEXOR  House 140 

II. — The  Blockade-Kuxner 144 

III.— Yellow-Fever 149 

IV.— The  Warning 153 

Y. — Coercion 158 

VI. — Under  the  Gray 1G4 

VII. — Pensacola  Navy- Yard      167 

VIII.— Ambition  Toiled 171 

IX. — Battle  of  Mobile  Bay 175 

X.— On  the  Trail 179 

XI. — Battle  of  Fort  Tisher 184 

XII. — Prisoner  in  the  North 189 

XIII. — Fate  of  the  Blackmailer 194 

XIV.— All  Adrift 198 

XV.— The  Old  Name 202 

XVI.— Payment  of  the  Bond 206 

XVII. — Premonitions 212 

XVIII.— The  Shadow  in  the  Glass 216 


BOOK  lY.— 1865. 

T.— The  Kendeem  Mansion 220 

II.— Home  Again 226 

III.— Nemesis 231 

IV.— The  Exiles 235 

V. — On  the  Boulevards 240 

VI. — Echoes  of  the  Past 245 

VII.— The  Veil  lifted 251 

VIII. — Traitor  Among  the  Faithful 255 

IX. — The  Welcome  Mes'senger 258 

X. — Found  at  Last 260 

XI. — The  Mortgage-Bond 265 

XII. — Hope  deferred 270 

XIII.— The  Gambler's  Curse 274 

XIV. — Harvest  of  the  Whirlwind 279 

XV.— The  Expiation 283 


CONTENTS.  11 

BOOK  V. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — The  Cunard  Steamship 288 

II. — Kending  the  Veil 291 

III.— The   Episode 298 

IV.— The  Deep-Sea  Grave 303 

v.— The  Old  Vicar 305 

VI.— The  Tin  Box 309 


BOOK   VI. 


I.— The  Midnight  Token 314 

II. — The  Shadow  of  the  Old  South  Church  .    .    .  318 

III.— Ilian  in  a  New  Kole 323 

IV. — A  Drawing-Room  in  Fifth  Avenue 329 

V. — Missing  Links 335 

VI.— Mysterious  Shooting 341 

VII. — Father  Murphy  not  Potent 346 

VIII.— The  Last  Evening 350 

IX.— The  New  Firm      357 

X.— The  Finale 3G3 

APPENDIX 367 


ILIAN; 

OR, 

THE  CURSE  OF  THE  OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH  OF  BOSTON. 


BOOK    I.— 184:0. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    PROFESSOR. 


The  fifteenth  day  of  November,  1840,  was  wet,  cold,  and 
dismal.  An  easterly  wind  swept  tlirough  the  streets  of  Bos- 
ton, and  in  the  suburbs  the  cold  was  more  piercing  than  in 
the  winding,  narrow  thoroughfares  of  the  modern  Athens. 
This  classic  name  belongs,  however,  more  properly  to  Cam- 
bridge, for  there  stands  the  Harvard  University,  whose  fame 
has  penetrated  to  every  part  of  the  civilized  world.  To  be 
an  honored  graduate  of  this  institution  is  equal  to  a  title  of 
nobility  in  the  eyes  of  many  of  the  citizens  of  Massachusetts. 
Great  as  she  was,  there  were  rival  colleges  at  that  period 
competing  for  the  patronage  of  those  who  were  seeking  the 
best  facilities  to  obtain  a  liberal  education. 

At  the  opening  of  our  story  there  stood,  in  one  of  the 
outskirts  of  Boston,  a  granite  mansion,  plain  and  severe  in  its 
architecture,  according  with  the  taste  of  the  older  citizens  of 
the  Bay  State.  The  house  was  surrounded  by  grounds 
artistically  laid  out  and  well  kept.  A  large  hall  divided  the 
mansion,  leaving  on  the  right  a  drawing-room  handsomely 
furnished;  on  the  left,  in  front,  was  a  reception-room,  and 
back  of  this  an  extensive  dining-room,  furnished  in  old  Eng- 
lish oak,  and  the  massive  plate  on  the  sideboard  was  an  evi- 

2  13 


14  ILIAN. 

dence  of  the  hospitality  and  wealth  of  the  owner.  The 
library  was  on  the  second  floor  front,  having  a  large  bay- 
window,  and  a  small  room  on  either  side;  the  bedrooms 
looked  out  on  the  back  on  beautiful  gardens. 

This  luxurious  home  was  the  property  of  the  distinguished 
Professor  George  Homer  Homerand.  It  came  to  him  by  in- 
heritance. The  Homerands  had  been  famous  for  several  gen- 
erations for  unusual  powers  of  mind,  showing  that  in  their 
case  genius  was  hereditary. 

The  professor  was  attached  to  a  university  in  another  city, 
but  his  spare  time  was  passed  at  this  palatial  abode.  Travel- 
ling back  and  forth  was  not  so  easy  then  as  it  had  become  a 
quarter  of  a  century  later.  Business  of  an  urgent  nature 
had  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  leave  his  classes  for  a  week, 
and  thus  we  find  him  at  his  home  on  this  November  day. 

He  had  passed  his  thirtieth  year,  but  was  not  married ;  his 
father,  now  dead,  had  trained  him  to  deliberate  carefully  on 
all  important  matters,  and,  as  matrimony  is  a  most  important 
affair  of  a  man's  existence,  he  had  been  in  no  hurry  to  take 
a  step  that  cannot  be  retraced.  It  was  a  tradition  that  the 
Homerands  were  always  well-mated,  because  they  were  so  slow 
and  careful  in  making  up  their  minds. 

A  maiden  aunt  kept  house  for  the  professor.  He  had  no 
other  relative  except  a  brother,  two  years  younger,  a  lawyer, 
already  married  and  settled  in  Hartford,  Connecticut. 

I  have  remarked  that  it  was  the  fifteenth  of  November ; 
dates  are  important  factors  in  every  one's  life,  but  this  one 
was  particularly  so  in  that  of  Professor  Homerand.  It  was 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning;  a  cheerful  fire  blazed  on  the 
hearth,  as  the  New  Englanders  did  not  then  enjoy  the  doubt- 
ful advantage  of  hot  air  through  their  houses.  The  breakfast- 
bell  had  ruug  twice,  but  the  professor  paid  no  heed.  He  had 
a  problem  to  solve  which  involved  more  consequences  than 
any  previous  event  of  his  life.  It  was  the  old  story  of  a 
man  with  two  claimants  for  his  heart.  He  was  walking  up 
and  down  his  spacious  library,  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back.  To  say  that  he  was  perplexed  would  be  inadequate 
to  express  his  condition.  Two  letters,  in  feminine  hand- 
writing, lay  open  before  him  on  the  table.  They  had  been 
received  by  the  morning  post.  The  choice  was  between 
love  and  ambition,  not  easy  of  solution  by  any  means.     One 

m 

McU 


THE    CHOICE.  15 

was  of  a  nature  akin  to  Mount  Vesuvius,  deep,  powerful, 
passionate,  and  overwhelming  in  its  intensity;  the  other, 
gentle,  soft,  and  characterized  by  well-bred  reserve.  The  first 
was  signed  Helen  Claymuire,  a  Southern  heiress  of  great 
wealth,  a  beauty  among  the  beauties.  She  had  a  magnificent 
figure ;  her  talents  were  of  a  high  order,  and  had  been  well 
developed  by  careful  education. 

The  other  letter  bore  the  signature  of  Martha  Rathmine,  the 
only  daughter  of  the  prominent  and  highly  distinguished  Judge 
Rathmine,  of  Boston.  The  judge  was  not  what  might  be  con- 
sidered a  rich  man,  although  he  had  a  large  income  from  his 
profession,  which,  he  freely  spent.  It  was  an  accepted  fact 
that  his  daughter's  dowry  would  consist  more  in  social  position 
and  influence  than  in  broad  acres  and  stocks  and  bonds. 

Our  interest,  however,  is  in  the  contents  of  the  two  letters. 
Long  years  have  passed  since  the  pens  of  the  writers  gave 
utterance  to  their  thoughts.  Both  were  aspirants  for  this 
man's  love ;  neither  suspected  a  rival ;  could  the  professor 
have  but  known  how  much  misery  would  ensue  by  the  choice 
he  was  destined  to  make — but  we  anticipate  our  story. 

Now  for  the  letters. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    CHOICE. 


Boston,  November  14,  1840. 

My  own  darling  Homer, — Your  note  of  yesterday  came 
this  morning  ;  I  have  read  it  over  several  times,  and  I  am  not 
able  to  account  for  your  coldness.  Once  your  letters  were 
glowing  with  love  and  devotion,  but  this  last  one  is  brief, 
formal,  and  chilling  in  its  tone.  How  have  I  offended  you  ? 
It  is  a  week  to-day  since  I  last  saw  you ;  to  me  it  is  more  like 
a  year.  The  hours  and  days  drag  their  slow  length  along. 
Doubts  and  terrible  thoughts  fill  my  mind.  You  may  ask,  as 
you  have  done  before,  why  should  I  fear,  for  all  will  yet  be 
well?  Ah,  my  beloved,  do  you  remember  that  you  promised 
three   months  ago   to  fulfil  your   solemn  vow  to  make  me 


16  ILIAN. 

your  wife  at  the  end  of  thirty  days  ;  and,  when  the  period  ar- 
rived, you  asked  me  to  delay  until  New-Year's-Day,  as  it  was 
your  family  tradition  that  a  marriage  on  the  first  day  of  the 
year  was  always  a  happy  one  ?  I  consented  to  this,  and 
patiently  await  the  promised  hour. 

I  bring  you  a  family  name  honored  for  generations  in  South 
Carolina ;  our  men  were  brave  and  honest,  and  our  women 
faithful  and  loving.  I  lay  at  your  feet  a  fortune  of  lands  and 
houses  that  bring  in  a  princely  revenue.  Woman's  real  life 
is  a  domestic  one  ;  by  the  decree  of  her  Creator,  that  is  her  am- 
bition ;  her  happiness  lies  in  her  husband's  love.  I  am  well 
aware  that  there  are  exceptions  to  this  rule.  Occasionally  you 
will  find  a  woman  beautiful  and  accomplished,  but  without  a 
heart ;  they  are  only  animated  statues,  and  not  even  to  be 
compared  to  Pygmalion's  fabled  Galatea,  chiselled  from  cold 
marble,  who,  being  endued  with  life  by  the  gods,  loved  the 
man  who  fashioned  her,  with  a  pure,  innocent  love,  and  went 
back  to  marble  when  she  found  that  her  love  was  not 
returned.  The  idea  was  heroic,  but  I  am  afraid  my  love 
is  too  ardent  to  be  content  to  live  on  as  a  statue  admired  only 
for  beauty  of  form,  and  not  for  the  soul  that  exists  within. 

I  could  not  endure  a  rival.  Do  not  think  me  jealous,  but 
it  is  with  heart-burning  pains  that  I  see  notices  in  the  papers 
of  your  frequent  vij^its  to  the  home  of  Judge  Rathmine. 
Rumor  whispers  that  you  have  been  paying  attention,  yes, 
marked  attention,  it  is  said,  to  his  daughter  Martha.  What 
can  this  cold  Puritan  maiden  bring  you  that  will  compare 
with  my  glowing  afi"ection,  Southern  born?  I  have  had 
senators,  judges,  and  generals  at  my  feet,  asking  for  my  hand. 
They  called  me  the  belle  of  the  South.  I  refused  brilliant 
ofi"ers  of  marriage  from  others,  and  accepted  yours.  You  have 
won  all  I  have  to  give,  and  I  am  in  your  power.  Let  me  see 
you  soon,  and  once  more  hear  your  voice  while  you  tell  me 
the  old,  old  story  of  love  and  devotion.  Why  is  it  that  our 
last  three  meetings  took  place  under  the  shadow  of  the  old 
South  Church,  and  at  such  late  hours?  My  coachman  and  my 
maid  will  both  think  either  that  I  am  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
you,  or  that  you  do  not  want  your  friends  to  know  that  you 
are  engaged.  Why  all  this  secrecy  ?  I  am  your  wife  before 
God.  On  your  bended  knees  you  took  a  solemn  oath  that  I 
should  be  your  lawful  bride ;  yet  only  yesterday  was  I  asked, 


THE   CHOICE.  17 

had  I  heard  that  Professor  Homerand  was  paying  special 
attentions  to  the  accomplished  Miss  Rathmine  ?  I  was  com- 
pelled to  turn  away  to  conceal  my  agitation.  I  could  not 
conceive  such  a  thing  possible.  I  do  not  even  contemplate 
what  I  would  do  in  the  event  of  such  an  improbable  occur- 
rence. 

Do  you  know  that  I  am  looking  forward  to  our  tour 
abroad,  of  which  you  have  so  often  spoken,  with  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure?  You  said  that  you  would  get  a  year's  leave 
from  your  University.  I,  too,  have  an  eager  passion  for 
foreign  travel,  and  long  to  see  Paris,  London,  Berlin,  and 
Vienna,  and  beautiful  Venice,  also  Florence,  Rome,  and 
Naples.  You  said  once  that  the  dream  of  your  life  was  to 
visit  Athens,  to  stand  on  the  Acropolis,  and  look  with  your 
own  eyes,  and  touch  with  your  own  hands,  the  work  of  the 
immortal  Phedias,  the  temple  of  Grreece's  purest  goddess,  the 
virgin  Athena.  Then  you  wanted  to  visit  Egypt,  that  won- 
derful land,  that  rich  mine  of  ancient  history ;  and  pro- 
ceed onward  to  Palestine  and  Constantinople.  I  eagerly  long 
for  those  days  to  come,  when  we  can  roam  together  at  will. 
It  is  my  thought  by  day,  and  my  dream  by  night. 

I  now  close,  awaiting  your  answer  with  anxious  solicitude. 

Believe  me,  with  feelings  of  earnest  and  unfaltering  devo- 
tion, 

Your  own  loving 

Helen  Claymuire. 


Boston,  Xovember  14,  1840. 
•  Mr  DEAR  RESPECTED  PROFESSOR, — A  week  ago  you 
asked  me  if  I  would  accept  your  hand  and  heart  if  laid  at 
my  feet.  You  told  me  to  take  a  full  week  to  consider  this 
matter  before  I  answered.  You  also  asked  me  to  call  you 
Homer,  and  not  professor.  I  must  get  used  to  this  familiarity 
gradually  ;  I  cannot  do  it  all  at  once.  In  answer  to  your 
proposition,  I  respectfully  beg  leave  to  say  that  I  consider  it 
would  be  a  serious  breach  of  decorum  on  my  part  to  state  in 
advance  what  I  would  do  in  the  event  of  your  making  a  formal 
offer  of  marriage.  In  reference  to  your  question  as  to  what 
my  worthy  father  would  say  to  such  a  proposition,  I  can 
only  make  answer  that  he  holds  you  in  the  very  highest 
h  -     2* 


18  ILIAN. 

esteem.  On  several  occasions  I  have  heard  him  say  that,  in 
view  of  a  prospective  vacancy  in  the  presidency  of  the  uni- 
versity to  which  you  are  attached,  he  would,  as  chairman 
of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  strongly  urge  that  you  be  selected 
for  the  post,  as  he  considers  that  you  are  best  qualified  to  fill 
the  important  position.  You  further  asked  me  if  my  heart 
was  free  and  unfettered.  To  that  question  I  answer  in  the 
affirmative,  and  I  will  give  you  my  definition  of  love. 

This  divine  quality  of  human  nature  is  not  the  product  of 
an  hour ;  it  is  not  a  volcano,  that  opens  suddenly  and  burns 
fiercely  for  ages,  with  fitful  intervals  of  rest.  Reciprocal  love 
is  a  gradual  assimilation  of  all  the  thoughts  and  aspirations 
of  two  souls  whom  heaven  has  designed  should  be  mated  for 
their  earthly  pilgrimage.  It  is  a  spiritual  fire  that  when  once 
kindled  must  be  continually  fed  by  unselfish  sacrifices.  It 
becomes  bright  and  glowing,  or  dull  and  flickering,  just  in 
proportion  to  the  amount  of  fuel,  both  in  quantity  and  quality, 
that  is  used  to  keep  up  its  vigor.  I  could  not  love  unless  it 
was  fully  reciprocated.  I  am  one  of  those  natures  that  can 
love  but  once,  and  if  my  love  were  misplaced  the  grave  would 
soon  welcome  the  sorrow-laden  heart  to  its  sweet  repose. 

We  have  a  reception  to-morrow  evening,  as  it  is  my  father's 
birthday,  and  a  few  of  his  choice  friends  will  be  at  our  dinner 
at  six ;  many  are  invited  for  the  evening.  It  was  with  feel- 
ings of  delight  that  I  read  your  letter  of  acceptance  to  attend 
the  dinner.  Will  you  come  at  five  o'clock  ?  We  can  have  a 
quiet  talk  before  the  company  arrives.  I  must  now  bring 
this  letter  to  a  close.  I  hope  you  will  not  find  it  cold  and 
formal.  I  have  tried  to  answer  your  principal  questions. 
And  now,  until  to-morrow,  adieu. 

I  remain,  with  feelings  of  the  most  profound  respect, 
Yours  sincerely, 

Martha  Rath  mine. 


THE  DECISION.  19 

CHAPTER    III. 

THE   DECISION. 

Language  fails  to  describe  the  emotions  which  swayed 
and  agitated  Professor  Homerand.  In  one  scale  was  love, 
honor,  wealth,  and  sacred  obligation  ;  in  the  other,  ambition 
alone. 

Why  should  a  man  of  sterling  integrity  and  a  high  grade 
of  what  is  manly  and  honorable  hesitate  for  one  moment? 
The  Homerand  family,  for  generations  past,  had  greatly 
prided  themselves  on  the  motto  of  their  house, — viz.,  "  Chiv- 
alry to  women  and  equity  to  all."  Not  one  member  had  been 
known  to  fail  in  keeping  up  this  high  standard.  Wherefore, 
then,  this  weighing  in  the  scales,  this  dallying  with  the 
tempter  ?  The  solution  is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  mania 
of  ambition  had  seized  upon  him, — ambition  to  fill  the 
presidential  chair  of  a  great  university.  Was  this  a  prize  to 
tempt  a  man  with  the  probity  credited  to  Professor  Homerand 
to  hesitate  upon  a  question  of  honor?  Nay,  more,  contem- 
plate the  committing  of  a  great  crime  in  sacrificing  the  life, 
reputation,  and  happiness  of  a  woman  who  trusted  him? 

A  decision  was  finally  reached.  The  professor  made  up 
his  mind  as  to  the  course  which  he  should  pursue.  After  his 
breakfast  he  sat  down  at  his  desk  to  answer  the  two  letters. 
He  remembered  his  father's  favorite  maxim, — "  when  honor 
and  self-respect  no  longer  dominate  a  man's  life,  he  has  en- 
tered upon  the  downward  road."  Often  had  he,  when  a  boy, 
heard  from  the  paternal  lips  the  words  that  there  must  be 
something  radically  wrong  in  a  man's  organization  when  he 
trifled  with  honor  and  self-respect.  Come  what  would,  he  was 
bound  to  fulfil  his  pledge  and  marry  the  woman  who  loved 
him.  He  knew,  too,  that  he  loved  her  as  he  never  could  love 
another.  Yes,  Helen  Claymuire  should  be  his  bride.  He 
therefore  resolved  to  attend  the  dinner  at  Judge  Kathmine's, 
and  frankly  explain  to  Martha  that  his  hand  and  heart  belonged 
to  another.  There  would  be  no  great  injury  done.  She  had 
stated  in  her  letter  that  her  love  would  be  gradual,  and  would 


20  I  LI  AN. 

develop  according  to  the  fuel  with  which  it  was  fed.  With 
this  decision  a  terrible  weight  was  taken  from  his  mind,  and 
he  wrote  the  following  note  as  his  reply : 

BosTOX,  November  15,  1840. 

My  dear  Miss  Rathmine, — Your  kind  favor  of  yesterday- 
is  before  me.  I  will  be  at  your  house  at  five  this  evening.  I 
have  had  a  very  difficult  problem  to  solve  this  morning,  and  I 
will  tell  you  the  solution  when  I  see  you,  when  I  purpose  to 
lay  certain  matters  before  you  which  I  cannot  put  on  paper. 

I  will  not  trespass  longer  on  your  time,  as  I  know  you  will 
be  fully  occupied  in  getting  ready  for  the  reception  this  even- 
ing. Your  letter  has  been  before  me  all  the  morning ;  every 
word  and  line  is  fully  weighed. 

I  am  writing  now  under  a  terrible  restraint,  and  I  know  you 
will  pardon  the  brevity  of  this  note. 

No  more  till  I  see  you. 

I  am  yours,  with  the  most  profound  esteem, 

George  Homer  Homerand. 

This  letter  was  certainly  non-committal.  It  was  intended 
to  prepare  the  way  for  a  candid  confession  that  honor  required 
him  to  fulfil  a  sacred  promise  to  another  woman.  She  would 
respect  him  all  the  more,  and  they  would  be  friends.  He 
would  lose  the  prize  which  had' been  the  goal  of  his  ambition, 
for  Judge  Rathmine  had  noticed  and  encouraged  his  atten- 
tions, and  while  he  had  not  engaged  himself  to  the  daughter, 
yet  the  match  had  been  the  topic  of  conversation  among  their 
friends. 

Under  these  circumstances  his  marriage  to  another  would 
cut  ofi"  all  chance  of  election  to  the  coveted  position. 

With  a  long  and  deep  sigh  as  a  farewell  to  his  ambiton,  he 
folded  and  sealed  the  letter,  and  then  betook  himself  to  answer- 
ing the  other.  Having  decided  upon  the  course  he  would 
pursue,  he  purposed  to  make  amends  for  past  neglect  to  his 
affianced  wife  by  writing  her  the  following  epistle : 

Boston,  November  15,  1840. 

My  own  well-beloved  Helen, — Your  loving  letter  is 
now  before  me.  Three  times  I  have  read  it  over,  and  your 
burning  words  have  gone  like  an  arrow  to  its  mark.     I  admit 


THE  DECISION.  21 

that  for  a  season  I  was  led  away  by  my  ambition.  Knowing 
the  power  of  Judge  Rathmine,  I  was  anxious  to  secure  his 
influence  in  my  favor  in  the  prospective  election  for  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  University. 

I  paid  my  court  to  the  daughter  in  order  to  win  the  father. 
This  unmanly  conduct  is  now  at  an  end.  I  have  accepted  an 
invitation  to  dine  at  the  judge's  house  this  evening,  for  it 
is  his  birthday.  As  a  professor  in  the  institution  of  which 
he  is  chairman  of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  I  could  not  well 
decline  his  invitation.  I  propose  to  leave  his  house,  however, 
as  soon  as  I  can,  and  will  meet  you  to-night  under  the  shadow 
of  the  old  South  Church.  Let  your  carriage  remain  one  block 
away,  and  mine  will  do  the  same,  and  at  eleven  prompt  I  hope 
to  see  you.  This  is  the  last  time  you  will  be  called  upon  to 
meet  me  at  such  a  late  hour,  and  at  such  a  place.  To-morrow 
I  purpose  to  call  at  your  house  and  proclaim  our  engagment 
and  our  intended  marriage  on  New-Year's-Day.  I  will  at 
once  resign  my  professorship.  My  private  income  is  abun- 
dant for  all  our  needs.  We  can  spend  several  years  abroad. 
I  ardently  long  for  those  rambles  amidst  scenes  made  famous 
in  classic  history.  I  feel  that  I  never  could  grow  tired,  espe- 
cially with  such  a  loving  companion  as  yourself. 

To  visit  Athens  is  the  dream  of  my  life,  as  you  so  fully 
described,  I  must,  perforce,  be  brief  now,  but  rest  assured 
when  I  see  you  at  your  own  hotel  I  will  more  than  make  up 
for  the  apparent  neglect  of  the  past  few  weeks.  I  say  appa- 
rent^ for  never  has  your  image  been  absent  from  me,  and  you 
alone  possess  without  a  rival  all  the  love  of  my  heart.  And 
now,  my  lovely  belle  of  the  South,  adieu  till  we  meet  to-night, 
and  you  will  then  hear  the  old,  old  story  which  you  say  you 
are  so  anxious  to  hear  once  again. 

No  one,  certainly,  would  ever  dream  of  describing  you  as 
being  a  marble  statue,  for  you  have  one  of  the  warmest  hearts 
pulsating  in  a  woman's  breast,  and  my  prayer  is  that  I  may 
ever  be  worthy  of  its  love. 

Rest  assured  that  my  devotion  as  your  husband  will  fully 
atone  for  all  my  faults  as  your  lover. 

"With  earnest,  undying  love,  I  remain 

Your  own 

Homer. 


22  ILIAN. 

CHAPTER    ly. 

IN   THE   BALANCE. 

The  aphorism  that 

"  There  is  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends,  rough-hew  them  how  we  will," 

is  at  times  strangely  at  variance  with  facts  of  history. 

The  great  apostle  to  the  Gentiles  o;ives  his  experience.  "  He 
failed  at  times  to  perform  that  which  he  knew  to  be  right, 
but  often  did  the  things  he  would  not."  Is  not  the  solution 
of  these  problems  man's  free  agency  ?  As  to  the  point  of 
how  far  Professor  Homerand  was  free  to  follow  out  his  con- 
victions, I  am  not  prepared  to  say.  Why  was  he  not  able  to 
do  so  ?  He  had  a  dim  perception  that  he  was  not  taking  a 
prudent  step.  He  was  going  to  meet  Miss  Rathmine  on  this 
very  evening,  and  had  significantly  given  her  to  understand 
that  he  would  make  her  an  offer  of  marriage. 

Were  coming  events  casting  their  shadows  before  ?  Not 
long  after  the  two  letters  had  been  sent  by  special  messenger 
he  became  painfully  aware  that  two  forces  were  at  war  within 
him,  seeking  for  the  mastery  of  his  actions. 

Much  has  been  written  about  strength  of  character  en- 
abling a  man  to  overcome  all  evil  influence.  Thousands  have 
relied  upon  this  quality  with  overweening  confidence,  and 
what  has  been  the  result?  History  tells  us  that  men  of  the 
very  strongest  will  and  iron  purpose  have  at  times  been  swept 
away  like  chaff  before  the  whirlwind. 

As  the  day  wore  on  the  battle  raged  fiercely.  The  two 
influences  were  at  work :  one,  which  seemed  to  be  that  of  his 
better  nature,  prompted  him  to  send  an  apology  to  Judge 
Rathmine,  stating  that  indisposition  prevented  him  from 
accepting  the  invitation  to  his  house.  In  his  present  frame 
of  mind  he  certainly  was  not  in  fit  condition  for  company. 
The  other  influence  reminded  him  that  this  was  the  decisive 
night,  and  that  if  he  went  to  the  reception  all  his  ambitious 
hopes  would  be  realized.  He  was  like  a  storm-tossed  craft 
that  had  lost  its  rudder.     Never  in  his  life   before  had  he 


IN   THE  BALANCE,  23 

endured  such  a  mental  conflict.  He  felt  as  if  a  hundred 
supernatural  beings  were  in  fierce  conflict  for  possession  of 
his  faculties.  One  moment  he  would  resolve  not  to  go  to  the 
dinner,  and  the  next  he  felt  the  despair  ensuing  upon  the  sur- 
render of  his  burning  aspirations. 

Mechanically  he  dressed  himself  in  evening  attire ;  his 
carriage  was  ordered  for  four  thirty ;  the  hour  had  come,  and 
he  had  not  finally  decided  the  momentous  question.  He 
paced  up  and  down  his  library,  ever  and  anon  looking  at  his 
well-filled  book -shelves,  as  though  seeking  for  guidance  from 
his  silent  instructors.  He  no  longer  exercised  his  usual  calm 
deliberation.  He  was  not  a  judge  on  his  bench,  listening  to 
earnest  pleaders  for  a  cause.  No,  the  battle  was  going  on 
without  his  aid.  He  was  the  prize  for  which  the  rival 
powers  were  contending.  Were  they  the  spirits  of  good  and 
evil,  seeking  for  the  mastery  of  a  human  soul  ?  Had  they 
means  of  knowing  the  result  that  would  be  sure  to  follow 
the  course  taken  by  the  professor  ?  For  the  time  he  seemed 
to  have  lost  his  free  agency,  and  to  have  become  a  passive 
subject,  a  lawful  prize  for  the  one  who  should  obtain  a  mastery 
over  him.  This  condition  was  the  result  of  his  indecision 
when  he  drew  back  from  his  plighted  word,  and  placed  its 
observance  in  the  scale  against  the  ambition  of  becoming  the 
head  of  a  great  university. 

Whosoever  toys  and  dallies  with  the  tempter  is,  in  ninety-nine 
cases  out  of  a  hundred,  the  sure  victim  of  the  evil  influence. 
It  wanted  fifteen  minutes  of  five  when  Professor  Homerand 
slowly  left  his  house  and  entered  his  carriage.  It  was  a  full 
twenty  minutes'  drive  to  the  judge's  house  ;  the  coachman 
stood -respectfully  at  the  carriage-door  waiting  for  orders. 

The  conflict  for  mastery  was  more  fierce  and  bitter  than 
ever.  Each  side  was  urging  him  to  utter  to  his  waiting 
servant  its  password  of  victory.  It  may  be  necessary  here  to 
state  that  Judge  Rathmine  resided  in  the  aristocratic  part  of 
Boston  known  as  Beacon  Hill.  Miss  Helen  Claymuire  had 
magnificent  apartments  at  a  private  hotel  called  the  "  West- 
moreland." It  was  one  of  those  two  destinations  that  he  was 
pressed  to  give.  The  strain  was  telling  fearfully,  and, 
although  a  cold  November  afternoon,  the  perspiration  was 
standing  in  great  drops  on  his  forehead. 

"  Are  you  ill,  professor?"  asked  the  wondering  and  anxious 


24  ILIAN. 

coacliman.  "  You  do  not  look  well.  Do  you  think  it  prudent 
to  venture  out  such  a  cold  evening  ?  If  you  wish,  I  will  take 
a  letter  of  excuse  to  the  place  where  you  are  going." 

The  man  was  his  confidential  servant,  and  had  long  been  in 
his  employ. 

"  Edward,"  slowly  spoke  the  professor,  in  a  weak  voice, 
"  I  am  not  well,  and  am  hesitating  about  going  out  to  a  din- 
ner-party. However,  drive  to  Tremont  Street  and  around 
the  Common ;  the  sharp  air  may  do  me  good." 

The  high-spirited  horses  went  off  at  a  rapid  rate,  but  there 
was  no  let  up  in  the  fearful  contest.  All  sounds  from 
without  his  luxurious  carriage  were  drowned  in  the  uproar  of 
the  battle  within. 

He  seemed  to  hear  nothing  but  the  words,  "  Beacon  Hill," 
"  Westmoreland."  He  had  neglected  the  opportunity  af- 
forded, to  send  his  coachman  with  the  letter  of  regret  to 
Judge  Kathmine.  Now  it  was  too  late.  He  must  give  one 
order  or  the  other.  The  Common  was  at  length  reached,  and 
the  circuit  almost  made  of  that  grand  historic  park  of 
Boston.  The  horses  were  walking,  and  the  driver  was  ex- 
pecting the  order.     The  supreme  moment  had  come. 

A  voice  as  of  an  invisible  agent  now  rang  in  his  ears,  "  Tell 
your  coachman  to  drive  home  again."  He  started  from  the  apa- 
thetic condition  in  which  he  had  been  since  leaving  his  house. 
He  lowered  the  carraige  window  to  obey  this  last  prompting. 
The  horses  were  stopped,  and  the  driver  leaned  over  to  hear 
the  instructions.  "  Home"  should  be  the  word ;  yes,  that 
would  settle  it ;  his  lips  parted  and,  with  a  spasmodic  jerk,  the 
words  "  drive  to"  came  out ;  for  a  second  there  was  a  pause. 
"Home!"  thundered  a  voice  in  his  ears;  "Westmoreland!" 
shouted  another ;  "  Beacon  Hill  1"  seemed  uttered  in  such  a 
tone  of  authority  that  is  used  only  by  those  who  have  power 
to  enforce  their  command.  At  this  critical  moment  a  news- 
boy, seeing  the  waiting  carriage,  ran  over  to  it,  and  cried  out : 
"Evening  paper,  sir?  Fire  on  Beacon  Hill."  "Beacon 
Hill?"  answered  the  professor,  in  an  interrogatory  tone; 
"  where  ?" 

The  coachman  heard  the  words  "  Beacon  Hill."  He  had 
been  awaiting  this,  for  it  was  known  among  the  servants  that 
the  professor  was  expected  there  for  dinner.  The  horses 
were  driven  off  at  a  rapid  speed,  and  the  newsboy  was  left 


AFTER   THE  BATTLE.  25 

behind.  The  conflict  was  ended.  A  calm  succeeded  the 
storm ;  one  of  the  forces  had  gained  the  victory.  This  ex- 
perience of  Professor  Homerand  is  by  no  means  a  singular  one. 
Thousands  have  gone  through  similar  contests.  Some  have 
been  victorious ;  others  have  fallen.  Many  times  in  the 
history  of  our  world  has  the  issue  of  happiness  or  misery  of 
a  nation  hung  upon  a  mental  contest  as  described  above.  We 
are  told  that  no  temptation  is  allowed  to  overtake  any  one 
without  a  way  of  escape  is  opened.  But  when  the  bridge 
over  which  one  might  retreat  has  been  destroyed,  and  we  pur- 
pose to  fight  to  the  bitter  end,  we  cannot  wonder  if  we  have 
to  yield  to  superior  forces. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

AFTER   THE   BATTLE. 


It  was  twenty  minutes  of  six  as  the  carriage  of  Professor 
Homerand  drew  up  before  the  palatial  residence  of  Judge 
Rathmine.  This  was  a  granite  building  with  large  projecting 
bay-windows  on  either  side,  and  massive  stone  steps  led  up 
to  the  hall  door.  At  the  head  of  the  steps  were  a  pair  of 
Canovas  lions  in  granite.  As  the  professor  alighted  he  saw 
at  the  bay-window  of  the  reception-room  the  face  of  Miss 
Rathmine.  As  he  entered  the  room  she  met  him,  and  was 
about  to  gently  chide  him  for  being  so  late,  when,  noticing 
his  pale,  haggard  expression,  she  said,  with  some  alarm,  "  Why, 
professor,  you  look  ill;  what  is  the  matter?"  "Nothing," 
he  replied  ;  "  I  am  not  very  well,  and  were  it  any  one  else  who 
had  invited  me,  I  should  have  declined  ;  but  I  was  anxious  to 
do  honor  to  your  father's  birthday,  and  I  am  here." 

The  soft  blue  eyes  looked  searchingly  into  his  to  ascertain 
whether  there  was  another  attraction  in  that  home.  Did  he 
come  to  pay  his  respects  to  her  father,  or  was  she  the  magnet 
that  drew  him  ?  On  several  of  his  previous  visits  he  had 
spoken  tender  words,  had  lighted  the  mysterious  fires  of  her 
nature,  and  had  made  indirect  proposals  of  marriage.  They 
were  in  the  reception-room  on  the  right.     No  one  was  there  j 

B  3 


26  ILIAN. 

a  few  of  the  guests  were  in  the  drawing-room  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hall,  where  Judge  and  Mrs.  Rathmine  were  in 
waiting  to  welcome  those  who  came.  Martha  had  been  led  to 
expect  a  formal  declaration  of  love  on  this  eventful  day,  and  it 
was  for  that  reason  she  had  asked  him  to  come  at  five  o'clock. 
She  knew  that  there  would  probably  be  no  opportunity  during 
the  evening  for  having  a  private  talk. 

It  may  be  well  to  digress  from  our  story  a  moment,  and 
give  a  description  of  Miss  Rathmine ;  her  general  character- 
istics can  easily  be  inferred  from  the  letter  recorded  in  the 
second  chapter.  A  pen-picture  of  a  woman  is,  at  best,  very 
unsatisfactory  ;  her  true  character  does  not  appear  on  her  face. 
A  celebrated  Scotch  physician  once  said  that  for  fifty  years  he 
had  made  women  his  special  study ;  and  that  in  forming  his 
estimate  of  them  he  did  not  study  their  countenances,  but  if 
one  or  more  of  their  letters  should  be  given  to  him,  he  would 
outline  them  for  all  they  were  worth.  This  was  no  idle  boast 
on  his  part,  as  he  had  many  times  proved  his  skill.  This  plan 
will  be  adopted  in  the  history  of  the  men  and  women  who 
may  figure  in  the  plot  and  counterplots  of  this  volume.  The 
reader,  if  anxious  for  more  intimate  acquaintance,  must  study 
their  words  and  actions,  and  their  letters  wherever  they  are 
recorded. 

Miss  Rathmine  was  acknowledged  by  all  her  friends  to  be 
a  lovely  girl.  She  was  in  her  twenty-third  year,  of  medium 
height,  and  nature  had  given  her  a  well-developed  form.  Her 
hair  was  brown,  her  eyes  a  deep  blue.  She  had  perfect  com- 
mand over  her  temper,  and  no  one  had  ever  seen  her  ofi"  of 
her  balance.  She  had  been  well  educated,  and  was  an  excel- 
lent critic,  and,  having  a  talent  for  science  and  literature,  was 
in  every  way  suitable  to  become  the  wife  of  a  scholarly  man. 
She  was  dressed  for  this  occasion  in  pale-blue  silk,  which 
showed  ofi"  her  beautiful  form  to  perfection.  Her  arms  and 
neck  were  exquisitely  formed,  and  the  skin  of  fine  texture, 
showing  generations  of  gentle  blood  in  her  veins.  She  came 
of  good  old  Puritan  stock.  On  both  her  father's  and  mother's 
side  she  was  related  to  some  of  the  best  New  England  fami- 
lies. 

This  description  is  inadequate  to  do  justice  to  one  of  the 
principal  characters ;  but  she  will  be  better  known  as  these 
pages  unfold  their  story. 


AFTER    THE  BATTLE.  27 

As  has  been  already  remarked,  she  was  fully  expecting  a 
proposal  of  marriage.  The  excitement  of  the  occasion  may 
have  aroused  the  full  tenderness  of  her  nature,  so  that  a 
stronger  man  even  than  the  professor  would  have  found  it 
hard  to  resist  her  charms.  He  was  fast  yielding  to  the 
impulse  of  the  moment.  When  the  decisive  password  of 
"  Beacon  Hill"  had  been  inadvertently  pronounced,  he  indeed 
acquiesced  in  this  solution  of  the  problem,  but  at  the  same 
time  resolved  to  be  true  and  faithful  to  his  solemn  obligations 
to  Helen  Claymuire.  It  was  his  purpose  to  tell  Martha  of 
his  previous  engagement.  As  they  stood  under  the  gas-light 
in  the  reception  room  the  glare  revealed  to  her  the  traces  of 
a  deep  struggle  of  some  nature  in  the  man  who  was  standing 
before  her.  Putting  her  dainty  little  hand  on  his  arm,  she 
looked  up  into  his  face.  "  I  know  you  are  ill,"  she  said  ;  "let 
me  offer  you  a  glass  of  wine."  And  before  he  could  answer 
she  hastened  to  the  dining-room,  and  returned  in  a  moment 
with  a  silver  tray  and  decanter.  She  filled  a  glass  and  handed 
it  to  him,  with  the  explanation :  "  This  is  of  a  rare  old 
vintage,  and  my  father  has  kept  it  for  many  years,  and 
brought  it  out  in  honor  of  his  jubilee  year."  He  drank  the 
wine,  remarking  that  it  was  the  finest  he  had  ever  tasted,  but 
declined  a  second  glass,  as  it  was  too  near  the  hour  for 
dinner. 

He  had  tasted  nothing  since  his  breakfast.  His  mind  had 
been  in  an  excited  state  all  day.  The  rich,  rare  old  fluid 
glowed  through  his  veins  like  wildfire  ;  and  this,  combined  with 
the  bright  eyes  of  Martha,  began  to  undermine  his  resolution 
to  be  faithful  to  his  first  love.  Judge  Rathmine  came  into  the 
room,  and,  after  warmly  welcoming  the  professor,  he  conducted 
him  into  the  drawing-room,  where  the  guests  had  assembled. 

Mrs.  Rathmine  went  into  dinner  on  the  arm  of  a  venerable 
senator,  and  Professor  Homerand  took  in  Martha.  Fifteen 
had  been  invited,  and  this,  with  the  judge,  his  wife,  and 
daughter,  would  have  made  eighteen.  Five,  however,  had 
been  prevented  by  illness  from  coming,  so  that  the  unlucky 
number,  so-called,  of  thirteen  sat  down  at  the  table.  After  a 
blessing  was  asked  by  a  worthy  divine,  the  feast  commenced. 
It  is  strange  how,  in  an  educated  community  like  Boston,  es- 
pecially on  Beacon  Hill,  such  a  superstition  as  the  fatality  of 
thirteen  sitting  down  to  dinner  should  find  credit. 


28  ILIAN. 

For  half  an  hour  the  conversation  consisted  of  anecdotes 
confirming  this  phantasy  ;  gradually  more  pleasant  topics  were 
introduced,  and  the  incident  was  forgotten  by  most  of  the 
guests.  The  dinner  was  served  in  an  elegant  manner,  and  it 
was  in  all  respects  a  notable  feast.  The  professor  had  fully 
recovered  his  equilibrium ;  the  color  returned  to  his  cheek, 
he  was  seen  at  his  best,  and,  as  a  conversationalist,  he  had  no 
superior. 

After  the  dessert,  the  gentlemen  arose  from  the  table  to 
allow  the  ladies  to  return  to  the  drawing-room.  As  they  were 
leaving,  the  professor  whispered  to  Martha,  "  My  long  cher- 
ished hopes  are  likely   to  be  soon  fulfilled,    provided " 

Before  he  could  finish  the  sentence  there  was  a  terrific 
crash,  and  the  room  was  left  in  total  darkness.  Indescribable 
consternation  had  seized  upon  all  the  guests ;  that  some  terri- 
ble disaster  had  happened,  and  that  most  of  those  present  in 
the  room  were  killed  or  wounded,  was  the  prevailing  feeling 
among  those  who  found  themselves  unhurt. 

For  a  moment  the  stillness  of  death  reigned ;  then  the 
frightened  servants  brought  in  lights,  when  the  cause  of  the 
disaster  was  discovered.  It  was  a  pet  fancy  of  Mrs.  Rath- 
mine  to  have  wax  candles  instead  of  gas-light  in  the  dining- 
room.  The  gas-chandelier  had  been  removed  during  the  day, 
and  a  special  one,  with  glass  pendants,  put  up  to  hold  candles. 
The  workman,  finding  that  the  socket  of  the  new  chandelier 
was  a  trifle  larger  than  the  old  one,  had  used  a  liberal  supply 
of  shellac  to  hold  it  in  place.  This  answered  the  purpose 
when  cold.  The  heat  of  the  candles  had,  however,  gradually 
softened  the  resin,  and  the  motion  of  the  company  causing  a 
vibration,  down  came  the  whole  structure.  Beyond  breaking 
a  few  plates  and  glasses,  and  a  sprinkling  of  the  liquid  wax, 
no  great  damage  was  done.  All  felt  grateful  that  the  acci- 
dent was  no  worse.  The  after-dinner  chat  by  the  gentlemen 
was  abandoned,  and  they  went  with  the  ladies  to  the  drawing- 
room.  Professor  Homerand  took  the  matter  in  a  more 
serious  light.  He  felt  it  prophetic  of  the  total  collapse  of  his 
ambition. 

He  was  losing  the  power  of  will  to  avail  himself  of  the 
avenues  of  escape  from  his  perplexing  entanglement.  Indeed, 
when  any  one  deliberately  walks  into  temptation,  he  must  not 
hope  for  any  easy  way  to  extricate  himself. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  RED    WINE.  29 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    SPIRIT   OF   THE   RED   WINE. 

By  ten  o'clock  Judge  Rathmine's  house  was  jQlIed  with  the 
very  elite  of  Boston  society.  The  governor  of  the  State  was 
there,  and  also  senators,  judges,  professors,  and  men  prominent 
in  business  and  politics.  Many  ladies  were  there,  robed  in 
garments  of  the  richest  fabrics.  The  details  of  a  reception 
even  as  prominent  as  this  one  was  would  not  be  interesting  to  the 
readers  of  the  present  time.  As  we  are  concerned  with  only 
four  persons  in  this  large  assembly,  we  will  not  linger  over  it. 

Eleven  o'clock  was  the  hour  which  Professor  Homerand 
had  named  for  the  meeting  of  Miss  Claymuire. 

The  reasons  for  this  extraordinary  mode  of  action  were 
twofold :  it  had  been  surmised  at  one  time  that  he  was  en- 
gaged to  her,  and  to  call  again  openly,  after  his  late  special 
attention  to  Miss  Rathmine,  would  have  led  his  friends  to 
suspect  him  of  equivocal  conduct.  Besides  this,  the  beauti- 
ful Southern  heiress  had  numerous  admirers.  Many  of  them 
were  extremely  jealous  of  the  accomplished  professor,  and  it 
would  have  been  difficult  for  him  to  obtain  a  private  audience 
from  her  without  observation. 

Again,  he  had  been  anxious  to  prove  to  her  that  he  was  not 
so  infatuated  with  Martha  as  not  to  be  able  to  leave  her  in  the 
midst  of  this  grand  reception.  He  had  fully  made  up  his  mind 
to  proclaim  to  his  friends  on  the  morrow  his  engagement  to 
this  woman,  "  the  queen  of  the  South,"  as  she  was  termed. 

She  could  leave  her  apartment  in  her  carriage,  attended  by 
her  maid,  under  the  plea  of  visiting  a  friend  at  the  point  of 
death.  This  was  her  excuse  at  her  hotel  on  previous  occa- 
sions when  she  had  met  the  profgssor  at  the  same  place  and 
hour.  At  half-past  ten  Professor  Homerand  managed  to  draw 
Miss  Rathmine  to  one  side  and  explain  that  a  friend  of  his 
would  leave  Boston  very  early  the  next  morning,  which  ren- 
dered it  necessary  to  see  him  at  his  hotel  for  hall"  an  hour  on 
very  important  business.  He  would  return  before  midnight, 
he  promised,  in  time  for  the  supper.  He  told  her  there  was 
no  occasion  to  mention  his  absence  to  her  father,  as  the  great 

3* 


30  ILIAN. 

number  of  people  present  would  prevent  him  from  being 
missed  for  so  short  a  time. 

He  had  on  his  arrival  ordered  his  coachman  to  come  round 
to  the  side  door  exactly  at  half-past  ten. 

Martha  expressed  her  regret  that  he  must  go  out  on  such  a 
cold  night,  but,  as  he  positively  promised  to  be  back  in  an 
hour,  she  was  satisfied  with  the  reason  assigned. 

"  I  shall  miss  you  very  much,"  she  added,  as  a  shade  of 
disappointment  flitted  across  her  face.  She  had  looked  for- 
ward to  this  evening  as  a  red-letter  day  in  her  life.  A  week 
ago  he  had  asked  her  if  she  would  accept  an  offer  of  marriage 
from  him.  He  had  now  been  five  hours  in  the  house,  and  he 
had  not  once  breathed  the  subject,  and  his  whole  deportment 
was  not  that  of  a  lover.  Several  times  he  had  told  her  that 
he  had  something  very  serious  to  communicate,  but  it  was 
not  in  the  tone  of  a  man  about  to  declare  formally  his  love 
for  the  woman  of  his  choice.  What  could  it  mean?  Had 
she  offended  him  by  the  tenor  of  her  letter  ?  His  answer  did 
not  indicate  that.  They  were  alone  in  the  dining-room,  which 
had  been  prepared  for  the  supper,  and  the  servants,  perceiving 
their  young  mistress  engaged  in  private  conversation,  left  them 
to  themselves. 

"  Miss  Rathmine,"  said  the  professor,  in  a  grave  tone  of 
voice,  "  I  have  something  to  say  of  an  important  nature." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  waited  in  an  attitude  of  expecta- 
tion. Her  heart  was  beating  rapidly  ;  her  eyes  were  fastened 
on  his  face.  She  was  not  willing  to  lose  a  word.  It  was  the 
one  period  in  a  woman's  life  that  she  can  never  forget.  The  ex- 
pectant Martha  was  amazed  at  the  change  taking  place  in  thQ 
countenance  of  the  man  before  her.  The  perspiration  was 
streaming  down  his  face,  and  he  looked  like  one  enduring  a 
terrible  conflict.  It  was  indeed  a  conflict,  for  in  a  moment 
he  realized  that  the  contending  forces,  which  had  left  him  the 
moment  he  pronounced  the  words  "  Beacon  Hill,"  had  once 
more  returned  to  renew  the  warfare. 

He  determined  not  to  yield  without  a  desperate  struggle. 
His  word  was  pledged  to  another,  and  he  had  resolved  not  to 
violate  the  solemn  obligation.  AVhen  roused  he  was  a  man 
of  iron  will,  and  now  he  felt  the  need  of  all  his  resources. 

"  Never !"  he  hissed  through  his  clinched  teeth. 

"  Never  what?"  exclaimed   the  wondering  girl.     "  Why, 


THE  SPIRIT  OF   THE   RED    WINE.  31 

professor,  you  are  very  ill  !"  And  she  looked  with  a  tender, 
anxious  solicitude  into  his  face.  "  Let  me  offer  you  once 
more  some  of  the  rare  old  wine."  She  filled  a  glass  and 
handed  it  to  him.  He  looked  at  its  bright-red  color  ;  then  a 
mighty  impulse  came  over  him  to  fling  it  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room.  For  a  moment  he  held  it  above  his  head,  then, 
slowly  raising  it  to  his  lips,  drained  it  to  the  last  drop. 
"Take  another,  professor;  it  will  do  you  good;  it  will  keep 
you  from  getting  cold.  Hark  how  the  wind  is  blowing  and 
the  windows  rattle !  I  am  so  sorry  you  have  to  go  out.  Can 
you  not  postpone  your  visit  ?" 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  I  must  go  ;  it  is  important."  The 
wineglass  in  his  hand  was  refilled,  and  he  held  it  up  before 
the  light ;  a  moment  later  and  he  had  drunk  its  contents. 
The  conflict  now  ceased  ;  the  forces  had  retired  from  the  field. 

"You  look  ever  so  much  better,"  said  Miss  Rathmine;  and 
she  smiled  sweetly  upon  him. 


"  An  agent  more  potent  never  yet  reigned 
Than  the  smile  of  a  woman  o'er  a  goblet  just  drained." 

She  had  not  the  slightest  intention  to  use  liquor  artfully  to 
influence  the  man  before  her.  She  knew  that  he  was  suffering 
deeply  from  some  unknown  cause,  and  what  she  did  nine  out 
of  ten  women  would  have  done.  She  offered  the  remedy 
which  was  at  hand,  a  glass  of  wine.  Had  she  known  the  true 
circumstances,  and  of  the  pledged  word  of  the  professor  to 
another  woman,  she  would  have  forfeited  her  life  before  stoop- 
ing to  an  unworthy  act  to  win  him.  The  spirit  of  the  red 
wine  did  its  work  effectually.  It  went  like  electricity  through 
every  vein  ;  it  benumbed  his  judgment,  seared  his  conscience, 
and  unloosed  his  tongue.  His  honor  and  self-respect  were 
flung  to  the  winds.  His  ambition  to  be  president  of  his  col- 
lege now  usurped  and  held  the  supreme  place.  With  Martha 
as  his  wife  all  was  gained. 

As  for  the  other  woman,  he  would  appeal  to  her  love  to  par- 
don his  desertion.  She  would  have  his  heart,  although  Martha 
had  his  hand  ;  that  was  an  equal  division.  Helen's  great  wealth 
would  enable  her  to  cover  up  all  scandal.  Perhaps  she  would 
find  some  other  man,  and  then  the  past  would  be  forgotten. 

Thus  he  cut  loose  from  the  safe  moorings  of  honesty  and 
self-respect  to  find  himself  adrift  on  a  resistless  current. 


ILIAN. 


CHAPTEK   VII. 

SOWING   TO    THE  WIND. 


It  has  been  said  that  the  downward  road  to  evil  is  steep, 
and  grows  more  so  at  every  step.  Professor  Honierand  had 
entered  upon  this  pathway ;  whether  he  should  halt  and  re- 
trace his  steps  or  go  on  to  the  fearful  end  was  a  problem  that 
he  had  no  wish  at  present  to  solve. 

He  had  begun  by  sowing  to  the  wind.  The  harvest  might 
be  slow  in  coming,  yet  it  was  certain.  As  we  have  stated  in 
the  last  chapter,  the  spirit  of  the  red  wine  had  full  control, 
and  under  its  influence  he  took  one  of  Miss  Rathmine's 
hands  and  held  it  between  both  of  his,  and,  looking  into  her 
face,  said,  "  Martha,  darling,  I  feel  wonderfully  better."  The 
maiden  blushed  deeply  at  this  tone  of  endearment,  and  her 
eyes  were  lowered  before  him,  while  he  studied  her  features. 
As  I  have  previously  remarked,  she  was  beautiful,  but  not 
demonstrative,  and  had  an  earnest,  loving,  truthful  heart. 

The  professor  felt  himself  seized  by  some  external  influence, 
and  was  no  longer  master  of  himself  His  tongue  moved 
and  uttered  expressions  at  the  bidding  of  the  force  that  had 
won  the  control  over  him. 

"  Martha,"  he  continued,  "  do  you  know  that  this  is  the 
evening  that  was  appointed  for  you  to  give  me  my  answer  ?  I 
love  you,  my  own  darling,  and  want  you  to  be  my  wife.  You 
never  will  have  cause  to  regret  doing  so.  My  whole  life  will 
be  spent  in  the  endeavor  to  make  you  happy.  With  your 
love  as  an  incentive  to  my  ambition,  I  can  reach  the  highest 
pinnacle  of  fame,  and  all  will  be  laid  at  your  feet.  You  shall 
be  my  guiding  star  and  my  counsellor.  We  have  but  a  mo- 
ment now  to  ourselves,  for  you  will  be  missed  from  the  gay 
circle  up-stairs ;  your  father  will  search  for  you,  so  what  is 
said  now  must  needs  be  done  quickly  ;  will  you  be  mine  for 
life?     What  say  you,  my  sweet  angel?" 

Martha  was  under  too  great  a  strain  to  speak.  She  had 
been  expecting  this  declaration,  and  now  it  overpowered  her. 
The  tears  came  freely,  tears  of  joy  and  happiness;  she  laid 
her  head  on  his  breast,  and  said,  in  a  sweet,  plaintive  tone, 


SOWING    TO    THE   WIND.  33 

"  Will  you  always  love  me  ?  Is  there  any  danger  that  you 
will  grow  tired  of  me  ?" 

"  No,  Martha,  never  ;  rest  assured  of  that.     I  swear " 

The  vow  was  not  finished,  for  the  door  opened,  and  Judge 
Rathmine  came  in.  He  did  not  at  first  take  in  the  situation, 
as  the  room  was  dimly  lighted. 

"  Why,  Martha,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  have  heen  searching  all 
over  for  you.  Every  one  is  asking  after  you  and  Professor 
Homerand."  At  this  point  he  became  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  his  daughter  was  encircled  within  the  arms  of  the  profes- 
sor, and  a  happy,  gladsome  smile  was  on  both  their  faces.  His 
surprise  found  vent  in  the  exclamation,  "  Why,  bless  my  soul, 
what  is  all  this  ?  The  old,  old  story.  Dear  me,  how  history 
repeats  itself!  I  did  the  same  thing  thirty  years  ago  wiih 
your  mother.  We  were  at  a  reception,  and  I  got  her  away  from 
the  company  over  to  the  dining-room,  and  proposed  and  was 
accepted,  and  had  a  kissing-party  of  two  all  to  ourselves." 

"  Judge  Rathmine,"  said  the  rather  abashed  professor,  "  my 
action  this  evening  may  seem  to  you  a  little  premature,  but 
now  that  it  has  taken  place,  I  ask  your  consent  to  the  hand 
of  your  daughter  in  marriage." 

"  Well,  professor,"  answered  the  judge,  "  I  certainly  have 
no  objections,  and  I  hope  she  will  prove  as  good  a  wife  to  you 
as  she  has  been  a  loving  and  devoted  daughter  to  me.  We 
must  inform  her  mother  of  this." 

''  One  moment,  judge,"  said  the  professor,  as  he  took 
from  his  pocket  a  solitaire  diamond  ring,  which  he  had  placed 
there  for  the  purpose  of  giving  to  Helen.  He  now  slipped 
it  on  Martha's  finger  instead,  saying,  "  Let  this  ring  be  the 
token  of  our  betrothal,  and  with  it  I  give  you  my  heart  for 
all  it  is  worth."  He  then  kissed  the  lips  of  the  radiant 
maiden,  remarking  to  her  father,  "  We  are  both  ready  to 
present  ourselves  to  her  mother  for  her  blessing,  but  it  will  be 
best  to  defer  doing  so  until  the  company  all  take  their  de- 
parture." He  then,  in  a  few  words,  explained  the  appointment 
he  had  made  to  see  a  friend  whom  he  might  not  see  again  ;  in 
fact,  it  was  almost  certain  he  would  not  for  a  long  time,  as 
this  friend  was  going  to  Europe,  and  must  be  seen  by  eleven 
o'clock,  but  he  would  return  in  time  for  the  supper. 

In  order  not  to  attract  attention,  he  would  leave  by  the 
side  door.     A  servant  was  sent  for  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and 


34  ILIAN. 

he  left  the  house.  Entering  his  carriage,  he  told  his  coach- 
man to  drive  to  the  Tremont  House. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  feelings  of  Professor 
Homerand  as  he  reclined  against  the  cushions  of  his  finelj- 
upholstered  vehicle.  He  did  what  thousands  of  others  do.  He 
said  it  was  his  fate,  and  that  it  could  not  be  helped.  He 
began  to  hope  that  it  was  only  a  dream ;  yes,  a  dream  sent  to 
warn  him.  He  had  read  of  such  things.  Surely  he  would 
wake  up  and  find  himself  in  his  own  bed,  and  his  heart  and 
hands  still  free  to  fulfil  his  solemn  pledge  to  Helen. 

The  wretched  man  was  suddenly  awakened  to  the  stern  fact 
that  it  was  no  dream  by  the  stopping  of  his  carriage  and  his 
coachman  opening  the  door,  saying,  "  Tremont  House." 

With  a  heavy  sigh,  and  the  tone  of  a  man  in  the  pangs  of 
despair,  he  told  his  faithful  servant,  in  whom  he  knew  he 
could  confide,  to  drive  down  Summer  Street,  into  Washing- 
ton, and  to  stop  a  block  away  from  the  South  Church. 

His  mind  was  yet  fast  in  the  shackles  of  the  spirit  of  the 
red  wine,  and  hardly  able  to  grasp  the  fact  that  he  was  about 
to  meet  a  woman  to  whom  he  was  bound  by  every  sacred  ob- 
ligation. What  was  he  to  say  to  her?  How  could  he 
explain  to  the  fiery  and  impetuous  Southerner  the  event  of 
the  past  hour?  He  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not 
face  the  ordeal,  but  would  remain  in  his  carriage,  and  send 
his  coachman  with  his  card  to  that  of  Miss  Claymuire,  and  a 
message  to  the  effect  that  severe  illness  prevented  his  coming 
to  the  appointed  place,  but  that  he  would  send  her  a  letter  the 
next  day.  This  plan  would  enable  him  to  find  a  way  out  of  the 
dilemma.  He  then  could  return  to  Judge  Rathmine's  house, 
and  forget  all  his  trouble  in  his  new-found  bliss.  When 
his  carriage  stopped  the  driver  dismounted,  and,  opening  the 
door,  told  him  that  he  was  just  one  block  above  the  church. 

Taking  a  card  from  his  pocket,  he  was  about  to  give  the 
message  to  the  coachman,  when  a  muffled  form  appeared  at 
the  door,  and  a  gentle  voice  said,  "  Why,  Homer,  you  are 
one-half  an  hour  late,  and  I  was  about  giving  you  up,  thinking 
perhaps  you  were  ill,  and  could  not  come  out  this  cold,  bitter 
night.  These  east  winds  of  Boston  in  November  are  too 
much  for  me."  A  low,  agonized  groan  was  the  only  response. 
Slowly  he  got  out,  and  walked  without  a  word  till  both  stood 
by  the  porch  of  the  old  South  Church. 


THE    OLD   SOUTH    CHURCH    OF    BOSTON. 


THE   CURSE   OF  THE   OLD   SOUTH  CHURCH.        35 

They  were  alone.  No  belated  pedestrian  came  near  them. 
Their  respective  vehicles  were  two  blocks  apart,  and  the  night 
was  too  dark  for  either  coachman  to  see  what 
or  hear  the  words  that  were  spoken. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    CURSE    OF    THE    OLD    SOUTH    CHURCH. 

To  a  guilty  mind  a  low,  quiet  voice  will  impart  a  greater 
terror  than  the  loud  roar  of  the  thunder-blast.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  even  a  spirit  from  the  other  world  could  have  para- 
lyzed, by  its  sudden  apparition,  Professor  Homerand  more 
thoroughly  than  the  few  words  by  which  he  was  greeted  at 
the  close  of  the  last  chapter. 

Yes,  he  was  late  indeed,  in  more  aspects  than  one.  Had 
this  meeting  taken  place  yesterday,  how  different  would  have 
been  his  feelings.  Under  the  ordinary  circumstances  of  life 
he  was  a  man  of  strong  character  and  inflexible  will,  but  now 
he  was  as  pliable  as  a  child  under  the  hand  of  a  powerful 
master.  Some  men  would  have  brazened  it  out,  or  thrown 
down  the  gauntlet  of  defiance  with  a  haughty  air.  The  pro- 
fessor, at  heart,  was  a  man  of  generous  impulses,  and  he  loved 
the  woman  before  him  as  he  never  expected  to  love  the  one  to 
whom  he  had,  that  very  evening,  pledged  his  word  to  marry. 
He  now  realized  in  what  a  terrible  dilemma  he  was  placed, 
and  how  to  extricate  himself  with  honor  and  credit  was  a 
more  serious  problem  than  had  ever  been  presented  to  him 
before.  To  say  that  he  suffered  keenly  would  be  a  mild  ex- 
pression ;  he  was  in  an  agony  of  remorse.  Although  the 
night  was  cold,  great  drops  of  perspiration  rolled  from  his 
forehead,  and  he  trembled  as  if  with  the  ague.  He  leaned 
against  the  iron  railing  of  the  church  for  support,  and  looked 
pitifully  and  pleadingly  into  Helen's  face,  as  though  seeking 
for  mercy  from  the  hands  of  one  he  had  so  cruelly  wronged. 
The  dim  light  of  a  street  lamp  cast  its  feeble  glare  over  him, 
and  revealed  to  the  astonished  woman  a  countenance  ghastly 
pale,  and  eyes  that  were  bloodshot. 


36  TLIAN. 

"  Why,  Homer,  my  darling,  you  are  ill.  Why  did  you 
expose  yourself  to  this  cold  midnight  air  ?  Why  this  strange 
fancy  to  have  me  meet  you  at  this  place  and  late  hour  ? 
My  maid,  who  came  with  me  till  I  saw  your  carriage  stop, 
and  my  coachman  will  begin  to  doubt  my  sanity.  My  own 
dear  Homer,  this  secrecy  will  end  to-morrow,  will  it  not? 
You  will  proclaim  to  our  friends  our  approaching  marriage, 
and  you  will  find  what  a  loving  wife  I  will  be." 

A  small  gloved  hand  was  placed  in  his,  and  a  gentle  voice 
said, — 

"  Speak  to  me,  my  dear ;  you  have  not  even  offered  a  word 
of  greeting.  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter ;  have  I  offended 
you?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  professor,  in  a  voice  hardly  recognizable  as 
one  belonging  to  the  eloquent  and  gifted  orator.  "  I  am  not 
well.     1  have  much  to  say,  and  don't  know  how  to  begin." 

"  Surely,"  answered  she,  "  this  is  not  the  time  nor  place  for 
a  confidential  communication.  I  have  risked  my  reputation 
by  meeting  you  here,  close  to  midnight.  This  must  surely 
be  a  proof  of  my  love.  You  do  not  exhibit  any  sign  of  joy 
at  meeting  me.  I  have  been  here  since  eleven  o'clock,  and 
the  night  is  bitterly  cold ;  my  servants  are  suffering  from  it, 
and  I  must  return  to  my  apartments.  Cast  aside  this  cold 
reserve ;  come  into  my  carriage  and  drive  to  my  door,  and  let 
your's  follow." 

There  was  no  response  to  this  invitation.  Remorse  was  at 
work ;  and,  now  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  the  woman 
whom  he  ardently  loved,  gladly  would  he  have  recalled  the 
declaration  he  had  made  to  Martha  Rathmine.  All  that  day 
he  had  looked  forward  to  this  midnight  hour  as  the  one 
that  was  to  usher  in  a  life-long  period  of  happiness.  That 
hour  had  come,  and  the  agony  of  despair  which  he  now 
endured  could  not  be  Avorse  even  in  the  abode  of  the 
lost.  He  cursed  the  wine  as  the  cause  of  his  present 
predicament.  He  felt  it  a  judgment  upon  himself.  He 
resolved  to  explain  everything  to  Helen,  and  keep  his  solemn 
obligation  to  marry  her.  He  would  fling  his  ambitious 
project  to  the  wind.  He  could  afford  to  resign  his  professor- 
ship and  go  to  foreign  lands.  Their  united  wealth  would 
enable  them  to  find  pleasure,  peace,  and  happiness,  and  he 
would  have  no  stain  upon  his  conscience. 


THE   CURSE   OF  THE   OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH.        37 

Acting  on  tlie  impulse,  he  seized  her  hand,  and  made  a 
brief  confession  of  the  events  of  the  day  and  evening.  He 
told  her  of  his  internal  struggles,  and  of  the  resolution  which 
he  had  made  on  leaving  his  home  that  afternoon,  to  pro- 
claim his  coming  marriage  with  her.  When  he  had  finished 
he  calmly  waited  for  her  reply. 

She  stood  during  the  recital  like  a  statue.  She  was  a 
woman  of  quick  discernment,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  how- 
ever strong-willed  and  resolute  the  professor  might  be  on 
ordinary  occasions,  yet,  in  the  choice  between  herself  and 
Martha  Rathmiue,  he  was  as  plastic  as  the  potter's  earth,  and 
would  be  moulded  by  the  hand  that  kept  the  firmest  grasp 
upon  him.  She  must  not,  for  a  moment,  risk  the  charms 
of  her  rival  upon  her  affianced  husband.  Her  mind  was 
quickly  made  up.  The  case  required  prompt  and  heroic 
measures. 

"  Homer,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  the  first  claim  upon  you, 
and  I  will  not  yield  it  to  any  other  woman.  You  must  decide 
this  question  to-night.  There  is  a  clergyman  of  one  of  the 
city  churches  who  has  apartments  at  our  house.  As  a  rule, 
he  does  not  retire  till  after  midnight.  Let  us  go  to  him  at 
once,  and  he  will  make  us  man  and  wife.  I  will  not  consent 
to  another  day's  delay.  At  my  feet  you  took  a  solemn  and  a 
binding  oath  to  marry  me,  and  before  heaven  I  am  already 
your  wife.  Further  delay  on  your  part  is  not  only  criminal, 
but  dangerous  to  our  future  prosperity.  Come."  And  she 
placed  her  hand  inside  of  his  arm. 

He  hesitated.  He  was  in  that  position  so  often  described 
as  being  at  the  division  of  a  stream,  where  one  course  led  to  a 
haven  of  happiness  and  a  quiet,  peaceful  rest,  while  the  other 
led  into  darkness  and  certain  disaster. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  will  go  with  you  and  end  this 
suspense." 

He  took  several  steps  towards  her  carriage,  and  then 
stopped. 

"  Had  we  not  better  wait  until  to-morrow  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Our  getting  married  at  this  late  hour  will  excite  surprise, 
and  create  comment  upon  our  conduct." 

The  contest,  which  already  has  been  depicted,  was  now  re- 
newed with  terrible  vigor.  A  voice  seemed  to  shout  in  his 
ear,  "  Y"ou  are  lost  if  you  hesitate ;  go  on,  and  marry  the 

4 


38  ILIAN. 

woman  at  your  side."  But  in  the  other  ear  he  heard  these 
words  :  "  Take  not  another  step.  Your  hand  is  ah-eady  upon 
the  presidential  chair  of  your  university.  It  remains  for  you 
simply  to  marry  Martha  Rathmine,  to  whom  you  pledged 
yourself  to-night,  and  the  honor  awaits  you."  But  again 
came  the  rejoinder  from  the  other  side:  "  It  is  not  worth  the 
sacrifice  of  your  honor.  Loyalty  to  your  faith  will  bring 
more  happy  results  than  can  possibly  accrue  by  disloyalty  to 
all  that  a  true  man  should  hold  sacred."  Then  it  seemed  to 
him  that  a  thousand  voices  all  around  him  were  shouting, 
"  Hurrah  for  President  Homerand  !"  His  conscience  was  cast 
from  her  throne,  and  he  surrendered  to  the  temptation.  A 
few  steps  more  would  have  saved  him.  The  bell  of  the  old 
South  Church  began  to  toll  the  midnight  hour.  The  effect 
on  both  was  electric,  and  there  was  an  instant  change  in  their 
manner  and  tone.  The  professor  recovered  at  once  his  self- 
possession,  and,  withdrawing  his  arm  from  Helen,  who  held 
it  in  desperation,  as  though  trying  to  save  both  herself  and 
him,  he  said  to  her,  in  cold,  formal  tones, — 

"I  cannot  consent  to  this  hasty  marriage,  at  this  late  hour; 
I  must  have  further  time  for  consideration.  It  would  ruin 
my  reputation.  Besides,  I  have  this  night  given  my  promise 
to  marry  Miss  Kathmiue.  I  cannot  marry  another  till  I 
have  formally  broken  the  match  with  her.  Let  the  matter 
rest  for  a  few  days." 

A  terrible  transformation  took  place  in  Helen.  Hitherto 
he  had  always  seen  her  in  a  loving  mood.  She  was  at  all 
times  gentle.  In  the  even  tenor  of  her  past  life  no  cause  had 
given  occasion  to  show  the  dreadful  contrast  that  underlies 
such  natures.  She  had  loved  like  an  angel ;  she  could  hate 
like  a  fiend. 

She  did  not  raise  her  voice  to  any  unnatural  pitch,  as 
superficial  persons  do  when  angry.  She  spoke  in  low  tones, 
but  each  word  was  uttered  with  energy  and  distinctness  that 
carried  with  them  no  doubtful  meaning.  Her  face  was  pale, 
her  eyes  flashed,  and  her  utterance  seemed  to  him  inspired 
and  prophetic. 

"  Professor  Homerand,"  she  said,  "  I  have  loved  you  with 
an  idolatrous  love.  I  have  lavished  upon  you  a  wealth  of 
afi'ection  such  as  seldom  falls  to  the  lot  of  man.  In  return, 
you  basely  stole  from   me  that  which  every  woman  should 


THE   CURSE   OF  THE   OLD   SOUTH  CHURCH        39 

guard,  even  if  she  has  to  go  through  the  gates  of  death  to  save 
herself.  You  offered  the  atonement  of  nn  honorable  marriage. 
This  you  solemnly  swore  to  fulfil  within  thirty  days.  You 
asked  for  an  extension  of  the  time.  To-night  you  have  pledged 
yourself  to  marry  another  woman.  Were  it  not  for  my  honor, 
I  would  scorn  to  unite  myself  with  you.  I  have  given  you 
a  last  chance  to  redeem  your  pledge.  This  you  reject.  Your 
excuses  and  desire  for  delay  are  frivolous  and  temporizing. 
The  weakness  of  your  character  has  been  revealed  to  me  in 
the  last  half-hour  in  such  a  light  that  no  true,  pure-minded 
woman,  free  and  unfettered,  would  link  her  fate  to  yours.  I 
again  repeat,  I  am  your  lawful  wife  before  the  Almighty,  and 
I  will  not,  while  I  am  living,  surrender  my  claim  to  any  other 
woman.  If  you  fail  to  acknowledge  me  as  such  before  the 
world,  I  will  call  down  the  curse  of  heaven  upon  your  guilty 
head.  If  you  marry  Martha  Rathmine  you  will  never  win 
the  prize  of  the  college  presidency.  The  idol  you  have  wor- 
shipped will  fall  shattered  to  the  ground.  Your  life  will  be 
embittered  by  regret,  anguish,  and  remorse.  Marry  that 
girl,  and  I  call  down  the  malediction  of  retributive  divine 
justice  upon  your  union.  If  you  have  a  daughter  as  the 
product  by  that  marriage,  may  she  be  cast  upon  the  streets  of 
Boston,  and  die  an  infamous  death,  her  own  abhorrence,  and 
the  public  scorn.  You  will  then  curse  the  hour  in  which  she 
was  born.  If  you  have  a  son,  may  he  prove  a  thorn  in  your 
side,  a  curse  instead  of  a  blessing.  May  he  turn  a  traitor  to 
his  country,  and  raise  his  heel  against  his  wretched  father,  and 
end  his  weary,  waudenng  life  far  out  on  the  great  ocean,  and 
go  down  to  his  burial  amidst  the  roaring  of  the  tempest. 
These  accumulated  miseries  will  bring  both  you  and  your 
wife  in  sorrow  to  the  grave.  The  choice  is  now  before 
you.  Redeem  your  promise,  and  I  will  forgive  my  wrongs, 
and  the  past  shall  never  be  referred  to.  Prove  a  traitor, 
and  God  will  hear  my  prayer  and  will  send  down  upon  your 
guilty  head  what  will  be  known  as  the  curse  of  the  old  South 
Church." 

A  moment  afterwards  the  professor  heard  the  closing  of  a 
carriage-door  and  the  rapid  tread  of  horses'  feet.  She  was 
gone!  but  her  malediction  remained!  He  looked  up  at  the 
face  of  the  clock  to  find  pity  there,  but  the  square  steeple 
only  frowned  down  upon  him,  as  if  to  corroborate  the  fearful 


40  ILIAN. 

words  just  spoken.     Shaking  from  head  to  foot,  he  realized 
that  a  fearful  curse  was  hovering  over  his  head. 

A  curse  pronounced  under  the  shadow  of  the  historic  and 
venerable  old  South  Church  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BRAIN   FEVER. 


The  bells  of  the  city  were  chiming  the  half-hour  after 
midnight  when  the  professor's  carriage  stopped  before  the 
side  entrance  of  Judge  Rathmine's  house.  The  coachman 
rang  the  bell  frantically.  The  judge,  who  was  in  the  dining- 
room,  anxiously  waiting  for  the  return  of  his  son-in-law  elect, 
and  for  whom  the  supper  had  been  delayed  half  an  hour, 
opened  the  door,  and  was  greeted  with  the  exclamation, 
"  Professor  Homerand  is  dying  !  Quick,  help  !"  He  rushed 
to  the  carriage-door,  and  opened  it.  The  light  from  his  bril- 
liantly lighted  windows  revealed,  in  one  corner  of  the  interior, 
the  almost  inanimate  form  of  the  professor.  His  face  was  of 
an  ashy  color,  his  hands  were  cold,  his  eyes  bloodshot, 
haggard,  and  wild.  He  was  in  the  condition  of  a  man  who 
had  witnessed  some  terrible  apparition.  Among  the  guests 
of  the  house  were  several  of  the  celebrated  physicians  of 
Boston.  Two  were  found  by  a  servant.  The  professor  was 
lifted  out  of  the  carriage,  carried  into  the  dining-room,  and 
laid  upon  a  lounge.  Martha  came  with  her  mother  to  extend 
their  aid.  The  stately  girl  gave  way  to  no  undue  excitement 
as  she  saw  his  dangerous  condition.  She  gently  placed  her 
hand  on  his  head,  and  said,  in  a  low  whisper,  that  no  one  else 
heard, — 

"  Homer,  darling,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

These  words  were  more  potent  than  medical  skill  to  the 
suffering  man.  His  reason  once  more  assumed  her  pedestal, 
and,  with  returning  consciousness,  he  realized  his  sur- 
roundings with  a  promptness  that  puzzled  the  doctors. 
Arising  from  the  sofa,  he  remarked, — 

"  I  have  been  ill ;  a  sudden  attack ;  nothing  serious.     I 


BRAIN  FEVER.  41 

am  better  now,  and,  if  you  will  kindly  excuse  me,  I  will  go 
home.  Don't  delay  the  supper  any  longer  on  my  account ;  I 
will  be  all  right  in  the  morning." 

In  the  meantime,  the  judge  had  been  seeking  information 
from  the  coachman,  but  that  astute  individual  (a  Scotchman 
by  birth)  was  too  shrewd  to  betray  his  master's  confidence. 
He  simply  said  that  the  professor  had  been  ill  before  leaving 
home  in  the  afternoon,  and  that  his  going  into  the  keen 
night  air  from  the  judge's  house  had  brought  on  a  severe 
chill.  The  professor  spoke  a  few  words  in  an  undertone  to 
Miss  Rathmine,  and,  accepting  the  offer  of  one  of  the  physi- 
cians to  accompany  him,  was  driven  rapidly  home. 

The  strain  proved  too  much  for  him  to  withstand,  and 
by  daylight  next  morning  he  was  delirious.  At  noon  his 
physician,  after  a  consultation,  decided  that  a  severe  attack 
of  brain  fever  would  result  from  this  illness,  and  that,  if  he 
survived,  it  would  be  several  months  before  he  could  resume 
his  lectures  to  his  class  at  college. 

Universal  was  the  regret  among  the  students  when  news 
of  his  illness  was  brought  to  them.  It  was  at  once  ascribed 
to  overwork.  It  was  known  that  he  never  spared  the  mid- 
night oil.  He  was  extremely  popular  not  only  with  the  other 
professors,  but  with  the  students  of  all  the  departments.  He 
met  everyone  with  a  genial  smile.  His  memory  of  faces  and 
names  was  wonderful.  He  made  it  a  point  to  know  the  charac- 
ter of  each  member  of  his  classes.  A  few  kind  words  from  him 
were  sufficient  to  check  the  unruly  spirits  for  which  his  univer- 
sity was  so  famous  in  those  days,  and  many  were  saved  from  ex- 
pulsion when,  at  a  meeting  of  the  faculty,  their  waywardness 
called  for  a  stern  example,  but  they  were  granted  a  further 
respite  when  Professor  Homerand  pleaded  for  them.  Every 
one  had  hoped  he  would  be  the  next  president,  and  great  were 
the  expectations  of  improvement  when  this  should  take  place. 
There  were  many  candidates  for  the  position,  yet  he  was  far 
ahead  of  all  competitors,  not  only  in  talent  and  learning,  but 
also  in  social  influence.  Whenever  the  subject  was  men- 
tioned to  him  he  invariably  turned  the  conversation.  It  was 
his  idol,  but  he  chose  to  worship  it  alone,  and  was  jealous  of 
any  one  coming  near  this  shrine.  It  had  become  a  master- 
passion.  It  was  his  dream  by  day  and  night,  and  yet  the 
truth  was  skilfully  concealed,  and  no  one  suspected  it. 

4* 


42  ILIAN. 

To  fail  in  the  attainment  of  this  great  object  meant  for  him 
the  extinguishing  of  his  ambition. 

He  was  a  regular  attendant  at  the  Congregational  church, 
but  seldom  spoke  on  religious  subjects,  and  never  would  coun- 
tenance any  levity  in  regard  to  sacred  things.  He  had  copies 
of  the  Bible  in  several  foreign  languages,  and  made  it  a  point 
to  read  a  chapter  every  day  in  the  different  versions,  finding 
it  an  excellent  plan  to  keep  up  his  familiarity  with  them.  He 
had  a  rare  control  over  his  temper.  In  his  classes,  a  quiet 
look  would  do  more  to  tone  down  the  exuberant  spirits  of 
the  young  men  who  listened  to  his  lectures  than  angry  words 
from  other  professors.  The  students  often  said  that  he  was  a 
sleeping  volcano,  and  that  it  would  not  be  prudent  for  anyone 
to  wake  him  up.  The  sorrow  for  his  illness  was  genuine,  and 
there  was  a  funereal  gloom  over  the  University.  As  the  days- 
went  by,  the  anxious  looks  on  tlie  faces  of  his  friends  told 
that  hopes  were  faint  of  ever  seeing  the  fiworite  professor  in 
his  place  again. 

For  three  long  weeks  the  fever  held  its  grasp  tenaciously 
upon  the  sick  man.  It  brought  him  to  the  portals  of  death, 
and  several  times  hope  was  abandoned.  To  the  physicians 
the  case  was  a  mystery.  They  felt  that  there  was  something 
that  had  not  been  told  them.  Repeatedly  had  they  cross- 
questioned  the  coachman  as  to  where  his  master  had  gone 
that  night  of  the  judge's  reception:  What  hotel?  Whom 
had  he  seen?  W^as  there  any  quarrel  or  undue  excitement? 
To  all  these  questions  he  replied  that  he  had  driven  to  the 
Tremont  House ;  that  the  person  sought  for  was  out,  but  was 
accidentall}'-  met  at  a  short  distance  from  the  hotel.  The 
professor  had  gotten  out  of  his  carriage,  and  walked  several 
blocks  with  his  friend.  When  he  returned,  he  complained  of 
feeling  unwell,  and  wished  to  be  driven  around  the  Common, 
hoping  he  might  feel  better  before  he  returned  to  the  Rath- 
mine  mansion.  This,  the  man  declared,  was  all  that  he  knew. 
No  amount  of  questioning  could  elicit  the  real  facts  of  the 
case.  No  word  ever  fell  from  the  invalid  to  enlighten  those 
who  were  anxious  to  unravel  the  problem.  He  lay  most  of 
the  time  in  a  stupor,  and  occasionally  muttered  a  few  inco- 
herent words. 

On  the  night  of  the  7th  of  December,  just  three  weeks 
since  the  illness  attacked  him,  the  attending  physician,  for 


BRAIN  FEVER.  43 

there  was  always  one  on  watch  every  night,  noticed  that  a 
change  was  taking  place.  The  climax  was  reached,  and  his 
practised  eyes  perceived  that  before  the  dawn  of  morning  the 
signet  of  death  would  be  placed  on  the  brow  of  the  patient, 
or  else  recovery  would  have  begun.  The  bell  of  a  neighboring 
church  tolled  out  the  midnight  chimes.  The  physician  started 
at  the  sound.  A  nurse  was  asleep  in  a  chair  in  the  next 
apartment;  servants  were  within  call,  yet  the  medical  watcher 
felt  a  sense  of  loneliness  come  over  him  that  he  could  not 
account  for.  A  chill  ran  through  his  frame ;  his  hair  began 
to  stand  on  end,  but  why  he  could  not  tell.  He  was  sitting 
by  the  bedside,  with  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  his  charge. 
The  door  of  the  room  slowly  opened,  and  the  curtains  of  the 
bed  were  agitated  by  the  rush  of  air  that  came  in.  The 
efiect  on  the  professor  was  startling.  He  moved  his  head  and 
opened  his  eyes,  and,  looking  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed, 
said,  in  a  quiet  tone,  ''  Why,  father,  what  brings  you  here?" 

To  say  that  the  physician  was  deeply  affected  would  be  a 
mild  expression.  He  arose,  and,  going  to  the  door,  closed  it 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  Then,  going  back  to  his 
patient,  he  saw  that  there  was  a  look  of  consciousness  on  his 
face.  His  eyes  were  open,  and  he  was  in  the  attitude  of  a 
man  listening  to  words  uttered  by  some  one  else.  It  needed 
but  a  glance  to  show  that  the  crisis  was  safely  past,  and  that 
the  form  before  him  was  not  likely  to  become  unconscious 
clay  at  present. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  much  improved,  professor,"  he 
said,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

The  sunken  eyes  turned  towards  him  ;  there  was  a  brief 
struggle  of  the  mental  powers,  but  Reason  once  more  quietly 
resumed  her  sway.  A  smile  came  over  the  face  of  the  pro- 
fessor as  he  said,  "  Yes,  I  feel  better  than  I  did  when  I  left 
Judge  llathmine's  house  last  night." 

The  medical  attendant  smiled  as  he  replied,  "That  was 
just  three  weeks  ago." 

"  Impossible !"  exclaimed  the  sick  man,  as  he  placed  his 
hand  on  the  doctor's  arm  and  looked  searchingly  into  his  face. 

"  It  is  a  fact,  I  assure  you,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  three  weeks 
this  very  night.  You  have  been  seriously  ill,  and  must  not 
overtax  yourself.  Rest  and  quietness  will  alone  restore  you 
to  your  wonted  health." 


44  ILIAN. 

There  was  a  troubled  look  in  the  professor's  face,  and  lie 
repeated  the  words,  "  Three  weeks  to-night,  did  you  assert  ? 
Then  I  have  been  delirious  and  unconscious.  What  did  I 
rave  about?"  The  fear  agitated  him  visibly  that  he  might 
have  betrayed  his  secret. 

Here  was  the  opportunity  to  solve  the  mystery  that  had 
puzzled  every  one.  The  physician  was  certain  that  some 
secret  cause  of  this  illness  had  not  been  divulged ;  yet,  being 
a  man  of  honor,  he  scorned  to  take  any  undue  advantage. 
He  already  held  keys  that  would  have  let  loose  the  demon  of 
scandal  in  many  families,  had  he  so  chosen.  As  the  secrets 
of  the  confessional  are  buried  in  the  memory  of  the  priest, 
so  facts  that  would  startle  society  if  made  known  lie  in  the 
minds  of  physicians,  dormant  and  hidden.  He  therefore  lost 
no  time  in  assuring  the  professor  that  during  his  illness  he 
had  uttered  very  few  words,  and  what  he  did  say  were  inco- 
herent. "  Your  illness,"  he  continued,  "  has  been  brought  on 
by  overstudy,  and  a  long  rest  is  needed  for  your  restoration. 
Judge  Rathmine  is  of  the  opinion  that  you  should  go  abroad 
for  a  year's  travel.  He  has  called  every  day,  and  his  daughter 
has  often  been  at  your  bedside.  She  has  grown  pale  and 
thin,  and  her  parents  are  worried  about  it.  Your  engagement 
to  her  has  been  made  known,  and  your  friends  are  waiting  for 
your  recovery  to  tender  their  congratulations.  Hoping  this 
information  will  put  you  at  your  ease,  you  must  now  go  to 
sleep,  and  let  nothing  trouble  you.  Your  affairs  have  been 
carefully  looked  after.  Your  brother  came  on  from  Hartford, 
and  is  now  in  the  house.  He  has  been  constantly  with  you. 
Not  another  word  till  the  morning." 

A  smile  for  a  moment  played  over  the  face  of  the  pro- 
fessor ;  then,  as  some  other  thought  filled  his  mind,  a  troubled 
look  overspread  his  countenance,  and  his  eyes  wandered  all 
over  the  room  as  if  in  search  of  some  one ;  then  they  rested 
for  a  moment  on  the  door,  then  on  the  doctor,  and  again, 
with  a  searching  glance,  back  once  more  to  the  door. 

A  mysterious  feeling  came  over  the  physician, — an  unde- 
fined dread,  and  a  consciousness  that  there  was  a  third  per- 
sonality in  the  room.  He  had  always  been  noted  for  his  cool 
nerve,  but  this  was  when  dealing  with  tangible  objects.  He 
looked  towards  the  door,  expecting  to  see  it  open,  when  all  of 
a  sudden  the  candle,  which  had  burned  low  in  the  socket, 


DRIFTING  APART.  45 

flashed  up  with  a  dying  flare,  and  then  went  out,  leaving  the 
room  in  total  darkness.  It  was  several  minutes  before  another 
light  was  procured. 

By  that  time  the  patient  was  asleep,  and  on  the  road  to 
recovery. 


CHAPTER  X. 

DRIFTING   APART. 


It  was  Christmas-morn  in  Puritanic  Boston.  Bells  were 
ringing,  and  the  silvery  echoes  rolling  down  from  lofty  Catho- 
lic and  Episcopal  church-spires  reminded  late  sleepers  that 
this  was  a  season  of  enjoyment.  It  was  a  memorial  of  that 
early  dawn  over  the  plains  of  Bethlehem,  when  the  angelic 
choir  tuned  their  harps  to  the  glad  song  of  peace  and  good- 
will to  men.  The  snow  was  on  the  ground,  and  the  merry 
sleigh-bells  of  those  early  astir  awakened  the  juvenile  popula- 
tion, and  sent  them  eagerly  to  ascertain  the  contents  of  their 
stockings  hung  up  the  previous  night  in  the  fulness  of 
childish  expectation.  Happy,  smiling  faces  met  at  the  break- 
fast-tables of  those  well-housed  and  clad,  to  whom  Nature  had 
been  lavish  of  her  bounties.  To  some  the  salutation  of  "  a 
merry  Christmas"  had  a  certain  echo  of  irony,  for  over 
them  hung  the  clouds  of  financial  misfortune.  Others  were 
mourning  the  death  of  dear  ones  from  the  family  circle,  who 
would  be  sorely  missed  on  this  occasion.  In  all  the  houses 
of  Boston,  from  the  mansions  of  the  wealthy  down  to  the 
apartments  of  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  from  the  homes  of 
misfortune,  sickness,  and  mourning,  there  was  no  such  hope- 
less, blank  despair  as  that  in  the  studio  of  Professor  Home- 
rand.  He  had  risen  early,  and  was  seated  in  his  library  in  an 
easy-chair,  with  a  cup  of  coffee  before  him.  In  three  weeks, 
intervening  since  the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  he  had  re- 
covered somewhat  his  physical  strength,  but  his  mind  had  re- 
mained in  the  spell  cast  upon  it  under  the  shadow  of  the  old 
South  Church.  He  was  in  a  mental  lethargy.  His  face 
wore  the  expression  of  one  doomed  to  die,  and  who  is  counting 
the  few  brief  hours  left  to  him.     In  a  week  from  that  day  he 


46  ILIAN, 

was  to  marry  Miss  Rathmine.  The  doctors  had  expressed 
their  opinion  that  it  wouM  be  some  months  before  he  would 
recover  the  full  power  of  his  mental  faculties,  and  that  a 
chantije  of  air  would  be  beneficial.  They  also  suggested  that 
a  skilled  nurse  should  accompany  him.  If  he  only  had  a 
wife,  they  said,  her  loving  attentions  would  expedite  matters. 

His  aunt,  who  kept  house  for  him,  was  too  much  of  an  in- 
valid to  endure  extended  travel,  and  he  had  no  other  female 
relatives  that  could  go  with  him.  His  friends  suggested  that, 
as  he  was  engaged  to  Miss  Rathmine,  he  should  marry  her,  so 
that  they  could  go  abroad  together.  In  the  autumn  he 
would  be  able  to  return  to  the  University  fully  restored. 

When  this  proposition  was  made  to  him,  he  merely 
answered  that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  his  friends,  and  would 
follow  their  advice.  Eagerly  hud  he  looked  from  day  to  day 
for  some  token  from  Helen,  but  none  came.  All  Boston  was 
speaking  about  his  illness,  and  she  must  have  heard  of  it. 
Why  did  she  not  send  a  message  of  sympathy,  or  write  a  few 
lines  ?  He  realized  now,  as  he  never  did  before,  that  he  loved 
her  better  than  it  was  possible  for  him  to  love  any  one  else. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  his  place  to  write  to  her. 
She  would  certainly  have  responded  at  once.  Indeed,  she 
had  waited  in  her  apartments  for  a  token  that  her  presence 
would  be  welcome. 

Thus  these  two  souls  were  gradually  drifting  apart,  and 
day  by  day  the  distance  was  increasing.  Her  proud  spirit 
was  chafing  under  her  wrongs,  yet  looking  hourly  for  a  mes- 
sage, a  line,  a  word  ;  and  then  she  would  have  forgiven  all,  and 
made  his  life  supremely  happy.  He,  in  moody  silence,  was 
hoping  that  something  would  intervene  to  save  him  from  that 
marriage,  the  very  thought  of  which  was  hateful. 

One  effort  would  have  set  him  free.  It  was  noon  of  Christ- 
mas-Day when  Judge  Rathmine  was  announced.  Coming  into 
the  library,  and  taking  the  hand  of  the  professor,  he  wished 
him  a  "  Merry  Christmas."  The  words  seemed  to  the  proud, 
gifted  man  of  learning  like  bitter  irony.  Merry !  How 
could  any  man  be  men-y  with  such  remorse  in  his  heart  ? 

"  Come,  you  must  cheer  up,"  said  his  visitor.  "  My  wife 
and  daughter  expect  you  for  dinner  ;  a  quiet  affair,  only  four 
besides  our  family,  making  a  party  of  eight.  Martha  wants 
to  have  a  talk  with  you.    Just  a  week  from  to-day,  and  I  sur- 


DRIFTING  APART.  47 

render  her  to  your  care.  She  has  always  proved  a  loving  and 
affectionate  daughter,  and  I  feel  confident  that  she  will  be  a 
devoted  wife.  Your  physicians  tell  me  it  is  almost  a  matter 
of  life  and  death  to  you  to  have  some  one  with  you  in  your 
travels  to  nurse  and  take  care  of  you.  I  will  call  for  you  in 
my  carriage  at  four  o'clock,  and  you  are  to  spend  the  night  at 
our  house." 

The  professor  made  a  few  feeble  protests.  Only  a  month  or 
so  past  there  had  been  a  time  when,  if  he  said  no,  it  would  have 
carried  a  conviction  of  an  iron  will,  which  it  would  be  a  difficult 
matter  to  swerve  from  a  fixed  purpose.     That  time  was  gone. 

In  his  earlier  years  he  had  carefully  trained  his  will  to 
hold  all  the  other  powers  of  his  mind  in  complete  subjection ; 
but  the  very  moment  he  began  to  halt  and  hesitate  between 
what  he  knew  to  be  his  proper  course  and  that  of  a  highly 
degrading  action  his  will  lost  its  supremacy,  and  the  rebellion 
thus  started  in  his  mental  faculties  was  not  easily  subdued. 

Now  we  find  his  feeble  negations  were  the  prelude  of 
yielding.  He  finally  consented  to  the  arrangements  of  the 
judge,  who  left  him  to  make  other  calls.  Gladly  would  he 
have  remained  in  the  solitude  of  his  library  to  brood  over  his 
misfortunes.  Woe  unto  the  man  who,  like  the  professor, 
waits  for  Providence  to  help  him,  but  refuses  to  take  the  first 
step,  and  help  himself.  V/as  the  power  of  the  fetters  so 
strong  that  he  could  not  sunder  them  by  any  means  ?  One 
stern  decision  of  his  will  would  have  made  him  a  free  man. 
He  wanted  to  be  saved  by  others  without  effort  on  his  own 
part.  His  brain  was  stunned.  His  conscience  had  fiercely 
resented  his  double  dealing,  and  the  combination  of  circum- 
stances had  brought  on  his  brain  fever.  If  his  friends  had 
known  the  true  condition  of  things,  they  would  have  come  to 
the  rescue.  Had  he  only  made  a  confidant  of  Judge  Rath- 
mine,  all  would  have  been  well,  and  by  sundown  Helen  Clay- 
muire  would  have  been  at  his  side,  his  honor  would  have 
remained  untarnished,  and  the  future  would  have  been  bright. 
Indeed,  he  had  thought  of  explaining  matters  to  the  judge, 
but  his  pride  prevented  him,  and  the  opportunity  was  lost. 
At  half-past  four  the  professor  found  himself  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  Judge  Rathmine's  mansion,  with  the  fair  Martha  by 
his  side,  holding  his  hands  in  hers,  and  looking  tenderly, 
lovingly,  into  his  face. 


48  ILIAN. 

His  condition  had  called  forth  all  the  sympathy  of  her 
nature,  and  she  permitted  him  to  read  in  her  countenance  the 
depth  of  her  love,  which,  under  other  conditions,  her  habitual 
reserve  might  have  prevented  her  from  doing.  She  spoke 
cheeringly  of  their  travels  and  the  prospect  of  his  renewed 
health.  She  knew  his  aspirations,  and,  hoping  to  encourage 
him,  she  repeated  the  wishes  of  his  many  friends  that  on  his 
return  he  might  be  elected  to  the  head  of  his  University. 
For  a  moment  the  smouldering  fire  of  his  ambition  gleamed 
and  sparkled  as  this  new  fuel  was  thrown  upon  it.  The  looks 
of  other  days  came  upon  his  face.  He  smiled,  and  returned 
the  pressure  of  her  small,  delicate  hand.  For  a  moment  he 
forgot  the  curse  that  was  hanging  over  his  head,  and  began  to 
show  some  response  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  brilliant  girl  at 
his  side. 

"  I  have  a  little  surprise  for  you,"  she  continued.  "  Your 
tradition,  you  once  told  me,  was  for  the  members  of  your 
family  who  got  married  to  have  the  ceremony  performed  on 
New- Year's- Day.  Now  we  also  have  a  custom  that  has 
been  in  force  for  several  generations.  All  our  marriages  have 
taken  place  in  one  church.  You  have  heard  that  my  grand- 
father was  one  of  the  men  of  the  Revolution,  and  freely  gave 
his  money  and  services  to  that  glorious  cause.  The  year 
before  he  died,  at  the  ripe  old  age  of  eighty,  I  was  a  girl  of 
twelve ;  he  said  to  me  one  day,  '  Martha,  when  you  grow  up 
and  get  married,  if  you  want  my  approval  from  the  grave, 
where  I  probably  will  be  when  your  marriage  takes  place, 

you  must  insist  on  having  the  ceremony  performed  in ' 

Where  do  you  think  ?"  said  the  happy,  radiant  maiden,  as  she 
glanced  archly  into  the  now  smiling  face  of  her  lover. 

"  There  are  so  many  churches,"  he  replied,  "  and  many  of 
them  very  old,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  guess  the  right 
one." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you,"  she  responded.  And  bringing  her 
face  close  to  his,  to  note  the  glad  surprise  that  she  felt  sure 
her  words  would  create,  she  repeated,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
"  The  old  South  Church  in  Washington  Street." 


MARRIAGE  BELLS.  49 

CHAPTER  XI. 

MARRIAGE   BELLS. 

It  is  a  difficult  task  to  describe  the  surprise  and  amazement 
of  the  professor  and  Martha.  One  expected  a  piece  of  agreeable 
information  ;  the  other  looked  for  a  joyous  smile  at  the  mention 
of  Boston's  historic  church. 

The  blood  left  the  face  of  the  astounded  man,  his  hands  grew 
cold,  and  a  look  of  intense  horror  came  over  him.  The  smile 
instantly  fled  from  his  lips,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out, 
if  possible,  from  his  memory,  that  awful  scene  of  the  mid- 
night of  tbat  day  which  was  henceforth  to  be  a  dark  memory 
in  his  existence. 

Martha  was  thoroughly  frightened.  She  rang  the  bell  for 
the  servant,  and  sent  for  her  father,  who,  seeing  the  condition 
of  the  professor,  ordered  the  physician  to  be  summoned. .  In 
fifteen  minutes  he  arrived,  and  found  his  patient  in  a  semi- 
conscious condition.  The  application  of  restoratives  quickly 
reviv.ed  him,  and  he  desired  to  return  to  his  own  home.  The 
doctor  would  not  consent  to  this  proposition,  as  he  was  well 
aware  that  solitude  only  fed  the  disease  instead  of  allaying  it. 
The  case  demanded  heroic  measures.  Dinner  was  announced, 
the  invited  guests  were  already  in  the  house,  and  the  doctor 
was  pressed  to  stay.  The  once  strong-minded  man  tried  for 
a  moment  to  gain  his  point,  but  had  to  yield  to  a  will  stronger 
than  his  own.  Almost  without  knowing  it,  he  found  himself 
seated  by  the  side  of  Martha,  who  handed  him  a  glass  of  that 
old,  red  wine,  which,  six  weeks  previous,  had  been  the  cause 
of  so  much  trouble.  Once  more  it  unloosed  his  tongue, 
brought  back  the  color  to  his  face  and  the  smile  to  his  lips. 
For  the  time  being  he  forgot  the  impendiug  curse,  and  became 
his  former  self.  His  brilliant  sayings  were  loudly  applauded. 
Martha  was  delighted  at  the  change,  and  became  more  than 
ever  enraptured  over  the  man  of  her  choice.  Her  father  and 
mother  looked  on  approvingly,  and  felt  that  their  daughter  was 
about  to  be  happily  mated  to  one  of  the  most  gifted  men  of  his 
country.  That  Christmas-dioner  was  a  grand  success.  At 
c       d  5 


50  ILIAN. 

one  time  it  had  looked  as  though  the  illness  of  the  professor 
would  throw  a  pall  over  the  whole  affair. 

The  physician,  having  found  a  partial  solution  to  the  enigma, 
and  a  key  that  unlocked  the  hitherto  entrenched  doors  of  the 
professor's  mind,  determined  to  keep  the  advantage  gained. 

On  the  following  day  he  went  with  him  to  his  house, 
resolved  not  to  leave  him  till  he  was  safely  married  to  Miss 
Rathmine.  During  the  week  that  intervened  he  insisted 
upon  his  patient  taking  a  long  drive  each  day,  and  spending 
the  evening  at  the  judge's  house.  Gradually  Professor 
Homerand's  mental  powers  began  to  rally.  He  was  conscious 
that,  unless  something  occurred  to  set  aside  the  plans  made  for 
him  by  others,  his  fate  would  be  settled.  Pride  held  him  back 
from  making  a  clean  breast  of  his  former  engagement,  and 
the  cherished  idea  of  his  ambition  was  still  potent  to  wield  a 
a  controlling  influence  over  his  destiny. 

There  were  times  when  he  felt  that  he  would  sacrifice 
everything  for  the  love  he  bore  to  Helen  Claymuire.  Perhaps 
if  he  could  have  met  her  and  talked  to  her  once  more,  then  he 
would  have  married  her.  Oh,  why  did  she  not  come  or  send 
a  line?  Twice  he  went  to  his  desk  and  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
to  write  to  her,  asking  her  to  come,  or  to  appoint  a  place  for 
a  meeting,  and  he  would  go  there,  but  his  pride  overcan\,e  his 
good  intentions.  Still,  he  hoped  to  be  saved  in  some  way. 
Slowly  but  surely  the  precious  hours  passed,  and  no  rescue 
came. 

The  appointed  day  arrived.  It  seemed  as  though  Nature 
had  chosen  to  honor  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Boston's 
great  professor.  The  snow,  although  deep,  yet  lay  compact 
and  solid  on  the  ground.  Overhead  hardly  a  cloud  was  to  be 
seen,  and  the  sun  made  glad  the  hearts  of  all  the  people  of  the 
city.  At  noon  the  bell  in  the  steeple  of  the  old  South 
Church  rang  out  a  wedding  refrain,  and  the  edifice  was  packed 
to  overflowing.  It  was  said  that  never  before  in  its  history 
was  it  so  densely  crowded  with  the  eYiVe  of  the  city. 

The  bridegroom  and  bride  moved  in  the  highest  circles  of 
society,  and  were  extremely  popular.  When  the  bell  ceased, 
Martha,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  father,  walked  up  the 
aisle.  She  was  robed  in  white  silk,  and  a  bridal  veil,  with 
orange-blossoms,  fell  in  graceful  folds  around  her.  The  pro- 
fessor followed  with  Mrs.  Rathmine,  who  looked  almost  as 


MARRIAGE  BELLS.  51 

handsome  as  her  daughter.  Six  bridesmaids,  all  lovely  ia 
white,  came  after  them,  mated  to  six  of  the  senior  class  of 
the  University.  They  had  come  to  show  their  appreciation  of 
the  professor,  whom  they  so  highly  esteemed.  The  organ  in 
the  gallery  played  a  wedding-march.  As  the  last  strains  died 
amidst  the  vaulted  roof  the  voice  of  the  officiating  minister 
was  heard  all  over  the  church,  as  he  said, — 

"  If  any  one  knows  of  any  impediment  to  this  marriage,  let 
him  now  speak,  or  forever  after  hold  his  peace." 

The  whispering  among  the  audience  ceased,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  the  stillness  of  death.  The  bridegroom 
grew  a  shade  paler,  and  glanced  uneasily  around  him.  No 
one  noticed  this  but  the  physician,  who  surmised  that  another 
woman  lay  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  professor's  illness. 

The  silence  was  unbroken  ;  no  answer  came  to  the  query 
of  the  clergyman,  who  then  went  on  with  the  service  binding 
the  one  to  the  other,  for  richer,  for  poorer,  in  sickness  or  in 
health,  until  death  should  part  them,  concluding  with  the 
words, — 

"  In  behalf  of  the  civil  law  of  the  commonwealth  of  Massa- 
.  chusetts,  which  I  now  represent,  and  in  the  name  of  Almighty 
God,  whose  minister  I  am,  I  pronounce  you  husband  and 
wife,  and  those  whom  God  has  joined  together,  let  no  maa 
put  asunder." 

A  brief  prayer  was  then  offered,  and  a  blessing  pronounced. 
Once  more  the  organ  filled  the  church  with  its  rich  melody. 
The  newly-married  pair  walked  slowly  down  the  aisle  to 
their  carriage  at  the  door.  Judge  Rathmine  had  prepared  a 
wedding-breakfast,  after  which  the  happy  couple,  as  they 
were  termed  by  their  friends,  were  to  leave  on  their  way  to 
Virginia,  by  way  of  New  York  and  Baltimore.  In  the  spring 
they  were  to  take  passage  from  the  latter  port  for  France,  to 
remain  abroad  till  autumn,  or  longer,  if  it  were  found  neces- 
sary for  the  restoration  to  health  of  the  sick  man. 

The  professor  had  handed  his  wife  into  the  carriage,  and 
turned  around  to  answer  the  greeting  of  some  of  his  friends, 
when  his  eyes  beheld  the  form  of  Helen  Claymuire  standing 
by  the  church-door  in  almost  the  identical  spot  where  she 
stood  on  the  fatal  fifteenth  of  November. 

She  was  like  a  statue  of  the  goddess  Athena,  calm,  digni- 
fied, and  haughty,  with  a  look  of  scorn  that  pierced  to  the 


52  ILIAN. 

inmost  soul  of  the  guilty  man,  who  trembled  from  head  to 
foot.  The  indignant  woman  slowly  raised  her  gloved  hand 
towards  heaven  and  let  it  suddenly  fall,  and,  turning  her 
back,  walked  away.  The  doctor  alone  witnessed  this  scene. 
He  had  been  expecting  something  of  the  kind,  and  now, 
having  obtained  the  secret,  he  knew  what  remedy  to  apply. 

Taking  the  arm  of  the  pale,  quivering  man,  he  said, 
"  Professor,  the  excitement  has  been  too  much  for  you ;"  and, 
seating  him  in  the  carriage  along-side  of  his  bride,  he  sat  op- 
posite, and  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  rapidly  away. 

On  reaching  the  mansion  of  his  father-in-law  the  bride- 
groom was  more  like  a  condemned  man  on  the  way  to  execu- 
tion than  one  going  in  to  his  wedding-breakfast.  The  old 
wine  was  again  called  into  requisition.  The  breakfast  was  all 
that  could  be  desired,  as  was  the  reception  which  followed. 
Hosts  of  friends  called  to  pay  their  respects.  Never  had  the 
professor  appeared  to  better  advantage.  It  was  the  lull  before 
the  storm,  which,  though  slow  in  developing  its  fury,  yet, 
when  over,  left  scattered  upon  the  pathway  over  which  it  had 
spent  its  force  the  wrecks  of  many  lives.  At  four  o'clock 
the  professor  and  his  wife  took  their  leave,  and,  amidst 
the  hearty  good  wishes  of  all  assembled,  their  carriage  bore 
them  to  the  railway-station. 

The  line  between  Boston  and  New  York  had  not  been  long  es- 
tablished, and  the  luxurious  means  of  travelling  of  the  present 
day  had  not  then  been  thought  of.  They  arranged  to  stop  for 
the  night  at  Springfield,  and  also  at  Hartford,  the  home  of  the 
professor's  brother,  where  they  purposed  remaining  two  days. 
At  New  Haven  a  reception  was  tendered  to  them  by  the 
faculty  of  Yale  College,  and  they  expected  to  arrive  in  New 
York  in  five  days  from  their  setting  out.  We  must  new  leave 
them  to  the  excitement  of  their  bridal  trip,  and  the  welcome 
received  from  relatives  and  friends,  and  turn  our  attention  to 
the  forsaken  woman. 

She  had  committed  her  case  to  the  inflexible  justice  of 
God. 


FALL   OF  TWO  IDOLS.  53 

CHAPTER   XII. 

TALL   OP   TWO   IDOLS. 

"  Thou  shalt  have  do  other  Gods  before  me,"  was  the  oft- 
repeated  injunction  to  the  children  of  Israel.  But  of  this 
they  were  not  mindful,  and  their  history  is  filled  with  the 
chastisement  inflicted  upon  them  for  their  great  transgression. 
The  present  generation  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  people  flatter 
themselves  that  this  violation  of  the  great  commandment 
cannot  be  charged  to  their  account.  In  one  aspect  of  it, 
perhaps  not ;  yet  in  many  others  they  must  plead  guilty. 
The  great  majority  have  some  secret  idol  that  they  bow  before 
in  worship.  With  some  it  is  wealth, — gold  is  their  god  ;  with 
others  it  is  ambition ;  and  the  prevailing  sin  of  very  many 
is  the  love  of  some  man  or  woman.  We  have  repeatedly 
shown  that  Professor  Homerand  had  before  him  the  presidency 
of  his  University.  It  would  have  given  him  power,  and  that 
became  his  god.  Helen  Claymuire  had  allowed  her  love  for 
the  man  whom  she  had  chosen  to  develo.p  into  a  boundless 
confidence,  bordering  on  idolatry.  She  would  have  refused 
him  nothing  that  he  could  have  asked.  She  regarded  him  as 
possessing  qualities  almost  superhuman.  His  form  was  erected 
in  the  shrine  of  her  heart,  and  she  bent  before  it  in  profound 
adoration.  When  she  learned  from  her  lover  that  another 
woman  was  about  to  claim  this  idol  for  herself  all  the  vin- 
dictive fury  of  her  nature  was  aroused.  During  the  interval 
of  his  illness  her  pride  and  love  strove  for  the  mastery.  She 
looked  daily  for  some  token  from  him,  even  though  only  a 
line,  and,  deeply  wronged  though  she  was,  she  would  have 
gone  to  him  gladly.  If  he  had  only  said  that  his  love  for  her 
had  not  failed,  all  would  have  been  forgiven.  The  marriage 
with  Miss  Rathmine,  as  announced  for  New-Year's-Day,  made 
her  ill,  and  she  denied  herself  to  all  callers.  She  hoped  that 
something  might  intervene  and  stop  it  at  the  last  moment. 
She  went  to  the  church,  heard  the  vows,  and  when  the  solemn 
words  were  pronounced  making  her  rival  the  wife  of  the  man 
whom  she  idolized,  the  idol  that  she  worshipped  so  long  fell 

5* 


54  JLIAN. 

from  its  proud  pedestal,  and  was  shattered  to  fragments. 
That  a  man  so  highly  gifted  as  Professor  Homerand  should 
commit  an  act  so  base  is  a  matter  of  perplexity  to  all  honorable 
persons.  Was  his  conduct  the  result  of  a  brain  unsettled  by 
hard  study,  or  was  the  goal  of  the  presidency  of  such  im- 
portance as  to  make  it  an  object  to  be  sought  after  by  all 
means,  fair  or  foul  ? 

It  must  be  admitted  that  when  a  man  is  mentally  endowed, 
and  duly  qualified  to  stand  at  the  head  of  any  college  where 
there  are  several  hundred  students,  it  is  a  laudable  and  worthy 
ambition  to  secure  its  presidency.  How  much  more  so  when 
it  is  a  university  of  national  reputation  !  It  is  not  a  political 
position,  to  be  manipulated  by  wire-pulling.  The  man  who  is 
found  worthy  to  fill  such  a  coveted  position  must  stand  as  a 
giant  in  intellectual  powers  above  his  fellows.  He  must 
possess  great  executive  ability,  a  name  without  reproach,  a 
strong  will,  capable  of  governing  with  a  firm  hand  the  unruly 
and  turbulent  spirits  of  those  who  would  quickly  throw  off 
restraint  unless  held  in  check  by  a  master  mind.  Professor 
Homerand  had  all  of  these  qualifications  in  an  eminent  degree. 
The  other  candidates  acknowledged  his  superiority.  Never, 
perhaps,  in  the  history  of  the  University,  was  a  man  so  well 
qualified  to  manage  and  direct  its  affairs.  His  friends  harped 
continually  upon  his  fitness  for  the  position,  till  at  last,  from 
being  a  mere  candidate,  he  came  to  look  upon  the  office  as  his 
right,  as  a  sort  of  inheritance,  and  gradually,  as  has  already 
been  shown,  he  began  to  worship  it  as  his  idol,  and  it  became 
his  master-passion. 

In  order  to  secure  the  judge's  influence  he  had  paid  court 
to  his  daughter.  He  had  no  idea  at  first  of  making  love  to 
her ;  he  had  no  wish  to  play  a  double  part.  In  an  unguarded 
moment  he  had  in  a  playful  way  asked  her  whether  she  would 
accept  his  hand,  if  he  offered  it,  in  marriage.  She  took  the 
question  in  earnest,  and  the  way  was  paved  for  all  that  followed. 
But  no  sooner  had  the  ceremony  been  performed,  when  he 
found  to  his  amazement  that  the  idol  which  he  had  worshipped 
so  long  was  losing  its  power.  He  began  to  waver  in  the 
desire  for  the  long-coveted  chair,  and  the  final  crisis  was  not 
long  in  coming. 

On  the  evening  of  the  tenth  of  January,  Professor  Home- 
rand came  back  to  his  hotel  in  New  York,  where  they  had 


FALL    OF  TWO  IDOLS.  55 

been  staying  for  five  days.  They  were  to  start  the  next 
morning  for  Philadelphia.  As  he  entered  the  apartment 
where  his  wife  was  waiting  for  him  to  go  down  to  their  evening 
meal,  she  noticed  that  he  was  looking  worried,  and  had  the 
appearance  of  a  man  who  is  hounded  down.  He  flung  him- 
self into  an  easy-chair,  and,  in  answer  to  his  wife's  tender 
embrace  and  anxious  inquiry  as  to  his  condition,  he  replied, 
in  a  husky  voice,  "  Martha,  I  am  not  well." 

"  My  darling  husband,  you  must  take  me  with  you  the 
next  time  you  go  out,"  she  said.  "  Now  let  me  get  you  a 
glass  of  wine ;  you  know  I  brought  some  with  me.  The 
doctor  told  me  to  give  it  to  you  when  you  were  ill." 

While  she  was  filling  the  glass  he  muttered,  as  though 
speaking  to  himself,  "  Is  that  woman  going  to  follow  me  like 
a  blood-hound  on  the  trail  ?  Let  her  beware  ;  it  takes  two  to 
play  at  curses,  and  if  she  stirs  the  latent  devil  in  my  heart,  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  her." 

"  Why,  Homer,"  said  his  astonished  wife,  "  who  are  you 
speaking  about?"  She  had  caught  the  words  "curses"  and 
"  devil,"  and  concluded  that  he  was  slightly  wandering  from 
nervous  prostration,  a  condition  which  the  physician  had  told 
her  would  be  likely  to  occur  if  her  husband  overexerted  him- 
self in  any  way. 

"  My  dear,  take  this  at  once."  And  she  held  the  glass 
towards  him.  Well  was  it  for  her  peace  of  mind  that  the 
single  candle  in  the  room  did  not  give  light  enough  for  her  to 
see  the  expression  on  her  husband's  face.  He  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and  by  a  mighty  efi"ort  subdued  his  emotion.  He  became 
calm,  and  his  voice  was  low,  but  it  had  a  ring  in  it  that 
startled  his  anxious  wife.  He  took  the  glass  of  wine  from  her 
hand,  and,  holding  it  above  his  head,  said,  "  Martha,  my 
sweet,  patient  wife,  forgive  this  little  outburst  of  mine.  I  met 
some  one  to-day  with  whom  I  had  an  unpleasant  controversy 
in  Boston  not  long  ago,  and  I  allowed  myself  to  become  ex- 
cited, but  it  is  over  now." 

"  My  darling,  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  an  enemy  in  the 
world." 

He  smiled  as  he  answered,  "Any  man  who  goes  through  life 
without  making  an  enemy  must  have  a  very  plastic  character." 

"  Tell  me,  was  it  not  the  same  person  whom  you  met 
the  night  you  left  our  house,  and  came  back  so  ill?" 


56  ILIAN. 

"Yes,  the  same  one;  but  I  do  not  think  we  will  meet 
again  ;  our  paths  lie  different.  But  now  let  me  talk  upon  a  more 
important  subject.  Do  you  know  that  I  have  drunk  so  much 
wine  lately  that  I  am  developing  an  appetite  for  strong 
drinks?  A  glass  of  wine  has  been  the  means  of  a  terrible 
curse  in  my  family.  I  now  take  a  solemn  pledge  before  God 
and  before  you,  my  wife,  that  while  I  live  I  will  not  use  wine 
or  liquor  as  a  beverage,  and  will  only  take  it  when  prescribed 
by  a  physician.  I  will  give  you  full  proof  that  I  can  do 
without  it,  for  you  will  find  1  am  myself  again  without 
the  need  of  stimulation.  Will  you  let  me  throw  this  glass 
and  the  wine  out  of  the  window  as  a  ratification  of  this 
pledge  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  answered  his  wife,  as  she  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  said,  "  I  also  will  join  you  in 
that  pledge." 

The  window  was  raised,  and  a  moment  after  a  crash  on  the 
street  told  the  fate  of  the  glass  and  its  contents.  The  evil 
spirit  was  thus  banished,  but  it  had  planted  seeds  that  would 
in  course  of  time  germinate  and  bring  forth  a  fearful  har- 
vest. 

"  Martha,  my  dear,"  continued  the  professor,  "  I  find  that 
the  idol  of  my  ambition  has  fallen  from  its  pedestal,  and  I  no 
longer  desire  the  position  of  President  of  the  University.  It 
is  now  doubtful  if  I  will  ever  again  occupy  my  professor's 
chair.     This  matter  is  final,  and  we  will  let  it  drop." 

Thus  fell  the  second  idol.  During  the  rest  of  the  evening 
Mrs.  Homerand  was  charmed  to  find  that  her  husband  had 
regained  his  former  cheerful  disposition.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  he  was  truly  himself  again  since  that  fifteenth  of 
November,  a  day  long  to  be  remembered  by  both. 


HOW  THE  PROBLEM  WAS  SOLVED.  57 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOW   THE   PROBLEM   WAS   SOLVED. 

The  next  morning  Professor  Homerand  and  his  wife  took 
their  departure  for  Philadelphia,  where  they  arrived  in  the 
afternoon,  and  going  to  one  of  the  best  hotels,  they  hoped  to 
find  rest  and  quiet.  The  professor,  however,  exhibited  great 
disturbance  as  they  entered  their  apartment.  Martha  had  not 
noticed  a  veiled  woman  sitting  near  them  on  their  journey,  but 
her  husband  had  penetrated  the  disguise  of  Helen  Clayrauire. 
How  long  was  this  to  last  ?  he  thought.  Was  this  her  mode  of 
revenge  ?  From  what  he  knew  of  her,  he  was  surprised.  It  was 
beneath  her  dignity  and  proud  haughtiness.  He  determined  to 
remain  in  Philadelphia  till  things  came  to  a  climax.  During 
his  three  weeks'  sojourn,  however,  he  never  saw  her  again  ;  so, 
taking  courage,  he  went  to  Baltimore,  where  he  engaged  passage 
for  Havre  in  a  ship  that  was  advertised  to  sail  on  the  fifteenth 
of  March.     The  intervening  time  was  spent  in  Virginia. 

Under  the  excitement  of  travel  and  change  of  scenery,  and, 
more  than  all,  the  careful  nursing  of  his  wife,  the  professor 
was  slowly  but  surely  regaining  his  lost  health. 

He  never  once  referred  to  his  former  ambition  of  sitting  in 
the  presidential  chair  of  his  university. 

As  he  had  promised  her  not  to  take  any  action  in  reference 
to  his  purpose  of  resigning  till  they  reached  Europe,  all  dis- 
course upon  the  matter  by  mutual  consent  was  avoided. 

On  the  appointed  day  of  sailing  they  left  Baltimore  in  the 
clipper  ship  "War  Hound;"  there  were  a  dozen  other  pas- 
sengers who  proved  to  be  very  agreeable.  Fortune  favored 
them,  for  they  had  not  only  a  quick  passage  across  the  ocean, 
but  fine  weather.  They  had  fully  expected  a  stormy  time, 
but  their  pathway  was  amid  smooth  seas  and  favoring  winds. 
On  their  arrival  in  Havre,  they  lost  no  time  in  going  to  Paris, 
where,  in  that  gay  city,  they  hoped  to  spend  many  pleasant 
months.  There  was  so  much  sight-seeing,  so  many  museums 
of  art,  that  time  sped  along  almost  without  their  knowledge. 
The  professor  had  been  to  Paris  before,  and,  as  he  spoke 


58  ILIAN. 

Frencli  fluently,  he  was  perfectly  at  home.  His  wife  was-  in 
raptures  over  the  novelty  of  mixing  with  a  people  so  entirely 
different  from  her  own.  When  the  weather  was  fine  they 
devoted  the  mornings  to  sight-seeing,  and  in  the  afternoons 
they  drove  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  Under  this  genial  change 
the  professor  regained  his  full  mental  vigor.  To  his  wife  he 
was  at  all  times  kind  and  attentive,  solicitous  for  her  welfare, 
and  willing  to  fulfil  her  slightest  wish. 

The  summer  passed  into  autumn,  and  they  still  remained 
in  Paris.  No  specific  plans  were  laid  out  for  their  future 
movements ;  they  had  decided  not  to  return  to  America 
at  least  that  year.  One  day,  in  the  early  part  of  October, 
Martha  was  reading  a  letter  from  her  l\ither,  in  which  he 
mentioned  the  probability,  almost  certainty,  that  her  husband 
would  be  elected  in  a  short  time  to  the  coveted  presidency. 

"  Homer,  darling,"  she  said,  "  pardon  me  if  I  again  bring 
up  the  subject.  My  father  has  set  his  heart  upon  this  matter, 
and,  now  that  you  are  restored  to  health,  he  urges  us  to  return 
home." 

He  paused  a  moment  before  replying,  and  then  answered 
in  a  deliberate  manner,  as  though  each  word  had  been  weighed 
before  being  pronounced,  "  To-morrow,  then,  I  will  forward 
my  resignation  to  the  Board  of  Trustees,  and  will  also  decline 
the  year's  salary  which  they  so  generously  voted  to  allow  me. 
My  income  is  ample  for  our  wants,  and,  furthermore,  I  have 
no  desire  to  go  back  to  America  for  several  years.  We  need 
not  remain  in  Paris  all  this  time.  I  am  desirous  to  visit 
Germany,  Austria,  and  Italy,  taking  our  time,  and  allowing 
nothing  to  worry  us.  We  spoke  the  other  day  about  going 
home  for  a  few  months  till  after  the  birth  of  our  child ;  but 
this  is  mere  sentiment,  and  the  prospect  of  a  long  passage, 
both  going  and  returning,  is  not  inviting  enough  to  induce 
me  to  take  it.  At  the  same  time,  I  have  no  wish  that  the 
little  stranger  shall  see  the  light  of  day  on  French  soil.  Next 
to  America,  I  prefer  England.  My  ancestors  came  from 
Lincoln.  I  visited  the  town  the  last  time  I  was  abroad,  and 
was  charmed  with  the  antique  air  of  the  place.  It  is  about 
half-way  between  London  and  Edinburgh.  Suppose  we  go 
there  and  take  up  our  abode  till  you  are  strong  enough  to 
travel  after  the  event.  Then  we  can  journey  to  "the  south  of 
Italy  by  easy  stages." 


HOW  THE  PROBLEM  WAS  SOLVED.  59 

Martha  answered  this  proposition  by  going  to  her  husband's 
chair  and  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  saying,  "  My 
own  Homer,  the  day  I  became  your  wife  I  took  the  solemn 
resolution  that  during  our  married  life  your  will  should  be  my 
guide,  and  I  feel  confident  that  in  studying  your  happiness  I 
will  be  assured  of  my  own.  We  will  .let  the  presidency  drop, 
and  speak  no  more  in  reference  to  it.  My  home  is  where  you 
are.  Much  as  I  would  like  to  see  my  father  and  mother  again, 
you  will  never  hear  a  word  of  repining  from  me.  I  am  very 
much  pleased  at  the  idea  of  going  to  Lincoln.  The  Rath- 
mines  came  from  Manchester,  and  I  would  like  to  visit  that 
place  on  our  way  to  Lincoln,  or  afterwards."  This  loving 
tribute  touched  the  professor  deeply,  and  he  kissed  his  wife 
with  more  show  of  affection  than  he  had  ever  before  exhibited 
since  their  marriage. 

"  Martha,  my  noble  wife,  would  you  prefer  to  remain  in 
Manchester?     Take  your  choice." 

"  My  choice,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  is  that  which  pleases  you 
best." 

"  I  have  no  decided  preference  for  Lincoln,"  answered  her 
husband ;  "  it  was  a  mere  fancy ;  but  I  will  tell  you  how  we 
will  decide  it.  I  will  write  the  names  of  Lincoln  and  Man- 
chester on  two  separate  pieces  of  paper,  fold  them  up,  and 
put  them  in  my  hat.  You  then  draw  one  out  and  tear  it 
up,  and  the  one  that  remains  will  be  our  place  of  residence 
for  the  winter."  This  simple  way  of  settling  what  is  often  a 
difl&cult  matter  to  decide  was  tried  at  once.  Martha  took 
one  of  the  folded  pieces  of  paper  and  destroyed  it.  She  then 
opened  the  other  and  read  the  word  "  Manchester." 

Thus  was  the  birthplace  of  the  coming  hero  of  our  story 
settled.  This  may  seem  to  many  readers  a  matter  of  trivial 
moment,  yet  it  was  one  that  had  a  very  important  bearing  on 
his  future  life.  Later  on  we  will  see  how  this  fact  was  used 
to  influence  him  in  the  turning-point  of  his  history. 

The  professor  laughingly  said,  "  It  rains  nearly  every  day 
in  winter,  in  Manchester,  so  you  will  have  me  in  the  house 
all  the  time.     Will  not  that  be  an  infliction  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  was  her  quick  reply ;  and  as  her  lips  were 
pressed  to  his,  in  proof  of  her  sincerity,  the  germ  of  a  new 
love  began  to  develop  amidst  the  ashes  of  the  one  lately 
buried. 


60  ILIAN. 

In  a  week  after  tliis  decision  they  left  Paris  for  old  Eng- 
land. Travelling  in  those  days  had  not  reached  the  degree  of 
luxury  and  comfort  and,  what  is  more  important,  the  rapidity 
with  which  it  is  now  accomplished.  Old  persons  say  that 
there  was  more  real  enjoyment  in  the  former  slow  mode  of 
locomotion  and  transit  of  half  a  century  back.  Ten  miles  an 
hour  by  stage-coach  was  considered  at  times  a  breakneck  pace, 
but  in  the  present,  sixty  miles  in  the  same  period  is  demanded, 
and  the  cry  is,  "  faster,  still  faster."  Some  say,  "  What  does 
it  matter  if,  once  in  a  while,  a  hundred  or  so  human  beings  are 
suddenly  hurled  into  eternity?  Does  this  fact  deter  any  from 
going  over  the  same  course?  It  does  not.  We  take  our 
chances.  The  course  of  events  move  rapidly,  and  we  must 
move  with  them." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

RED-LETTER   DAY. 


It  was  the  tenth  of  November.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homerand 
were  comfortably  settled  in  handsome  apartments  in  the  most 
fashionable  part  of  the  ancient  borough  of  Manchester. 
It  was  raining,  not  hard,  but  steadily,  as  if  in  accord  with  the 
staid  habit  of  this  rich  and  cultured  city  of  the  United  King- 
dom. A  cheerful  fire  was  burning  in  the  grate,  sending  a 
glow  all  round  the  room,  making  a  picture  of  home-life  worthy 
of  the  effort  of  the  best  painter  to  rival  on  canvas.  The  pro- 
fessor had  just  returned  from  the  post-office  with  a  bundle  of 
papers  and  several  letters  for  himself  and  his  wife.  Some  of 
the  latter  were  from  her  school-mates,  and  filled  with  young 
girls'  gossip,  and  saying  how  much  they  envied  her  for  being  in 
Europe  and  seeing  the  notables  of  foreign  lands.  There  was 
nothing  in  any  of  the  letters  or  papers  out  of  the  usual  course 
of  news,  yet  Mrs.  Homerand  noticed  that  her  husband  was 
restless  and  uneasy.  She  did  not  like  to  question  him,  and,  as 
tea  was  announced,  she  hoped  that  after  the  evening  meal  the 
annoyance,  or  whatever  it  was,  would  pass  away.  But  it  did 
not.  In  two  hours  after  he  was  in  a  very  excitable  condition  ; 
he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  nervous  manner,  and, 


RED-LETTER  DAT.  61 

suddenly  stopping  before  his  wife,  said,  "  Martha,  I  hope 
that  the  birth  of  our  child  will  not  take  place  on  the  fifteenth 
of  this  month." 

Her  eyes  opened  in  wonder,  and  then,  with  an  amused 
smile,  she  replied,  "  Why,  I  do  not  expect  the  event  before 
December ;  but  why  do  you  object  to  the  fifteenth  of  Novem- 
ber?   It  is  my  father's  birthday,  and  you  know " 

"  Yes,"  he  interrupted  her;  "  I  know  all  that;  but  it  was 
the  day  I  wa.s  taken  so  ill,  and  the  events  connected  with 

it Well,  no  matter,"  he  continued,  breaking  off  from  his 

sentence ;  "  it  might  be  unlucky." 

"  Why  should  it  be  so  ?"  Martha  asked.  "  It  was  the  day  of 
our  engagement,  and  it  will  always  be  a  red-letter  day  in  my 
existence."    • 

The  professor  walked  the  floor  more  impatiently  than  ever. 
At  last,  afraid  of  awakening  his  wife's  suspicions,  he  said,  "  I 
suffered  so  much  from  the  illness  contracted  on  that  day  that 
perhaps  it  has  prejudiced  my  mind  against  it." 

He  now  seated  himself  along-side  of  his  wife,  and  taking  her 
hand,  with  a  smile,  continued,  "  Martha,  suppose  the  little 
stranger  is  a  girl ;  what  will  you  call  her  ?  You  know  it 
was  agreed  that  if  it  was  a  boy  I  should  name  him  Adrien, 
But  you  have  not  told  me  what,  if  a  girl  is  sent  to  us,  you 
propose  calling  her." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  a  name  all  ready.  What 
do  you  think  it  is?" 

"  Well,  really,  the  list  of  feminine  names  is  so  extensive 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  guess." 

"  Then  you  give  it  up.  Well,  I  propose  calling  our  baby, 
if  it  be  a  girl,  Helen." 

The  professor  jumped  to  his  feet,  saying,  petulantly,  "I 
hate  the  name  of  Helen." 

"  Why  do  you  hate  it  ?"  exclaimed  his  astonished  wife. 
"  It  is  my  mother's  name." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  Helen  was  the  cause 
of  so  much  suffering  to  ancient  Troy,  and,  as  my  name  is 
Homer,  I  suppose  I  am  prejudiced  against  it." 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  exclaimed  Martha  ;  "  that  is  a  queer 
reason  f  jr  disliking  the  name.  If  I  did  not  know  you  so  well, 
I  would  suspect  that  some  girl  of  that  name  had  once  held 
your  affection,  and  jilted  you  for  some  one  else." 

6 


62  ILIAN. 

To  this  thrust,  which  went  deeper  than  she  suspected,  her 
husband  replied,  in  a  calm  tone,  as  by  a  superhuman  effort  he 
mastered  his  feelings,  "  There  is  no  name  so  sweet  to  me  as 
Martha ;"  and  he  kissed  her  with  fervor. 

Her  affection  for  him  was  enlivened  at  this,  and,  looking 
into  his  face,  she  said,  "  Well,  my  dear,  it  shall  be  as  vou 
wish." 

The  fifteenth  of  November  was  a  pleasant  day.  It  rained 
a  little  in  the  morning,  but  cleared  up  at  noon,  and  the  sua 
came  out  of  the  cloud-banks  that  had  hidden  it  for  a  week. 
The  gentler  sex  went  forth  from  their  homes,  to  enjoy  a  sun- 
bath,  a  rare  luxury  at  this  time  of  the  year. 

The  professor  had  invited  a  few  friends  to  dinner.  His 
fame  had  preceded  him,  and  he  found  a  warm  welcome  in 
Manchester. 

In  the  afternoon  he  proposed  to  his  wife  to  take  a  drive  to 
the  suburbs,  as  the  day  was  so  clear  and  pleasant.  They  drove 
out  upon  the  road  leading  to  Liverpool,  and  soon  entered  into 
the  country.  The  experience  of  English  rural  life  was  not 
only  a  novelty,  but  pleasant  to  the  American  sojourners,  and 
it  was  with  regret  that  they  gave  the  order  to  return  to  town. 

As  they  neared  the  city  limits  a  trivial  occurrence  was  very 
near  causing  a  fiital  accident.  They  came  up  with  a  large 
hay-wagon,  that  almost  blocked  the  highway,  the  driver  of 
which  refused  to  turn  aside  and  let  their  carriage  pass.  A  war  . 
of  words  commenced  between  the  two  drivers,  which  was 
ended  by  one  of  the  wheels  of  the  hay-wagon  coming  off  the 
axle.  The  entire  load  fell  over  with  a  crash  upon  the  side  of 
the  road.  This  startled  the  high-spirited  horses  of  the  carriage, 
and,  dashing  to  one  side,  they  soon  ran  forward  in  a  mad 
gallop,  tearing  along  the  road  at  a  fearful  speed.  Their  wild 
career,  however,  was  at  length  checked  by  meeting  another 
hay-wagon.  The  driver  directed  the  furious  animals  against 
it,  and  they  were  compelled  to  stop.  No  damage  was  done  to 
the  carriage,  but  Mrs.  Homerand  received  a  severe  fright, 
which  alarmed  her  husband.  She  was  deathly  pale,  yet  she 
controlled  her  feelings,  and  when  the  danger  was  over  turned 
towards  him  smilingly,  saying,  "  We  had  a  narrow  escape ; 
let  us  go  home  at  once."  When  they  reached  their  house, 
they  found  several  of  the  expected  guests  awaiting  them.  An 
hour  after,  all  were  present,  and  dinner  was  announced.     Mrs. 


RED-LETTER  DAY.  63 

Homeland  had  put  on  a  white  evening  dress,  and  received 
many  compliments  for  her  good  looks.  There  was  a  brilliant 
flush  on  her  cheeks  that  greatly  enhanced  her  beauty.  Her 
husband  was  worried,  nevertheless.  He  was  apprehensive 
that  the  fright  which  she  had  received  might  produce  danger- 
ous results.  There  was  an  eminent  physician  among  the 
guests,  and  to  him  he  mentioned  his  fears.  It  was  not  long 
before  the  practised  eye  saw  that  a  crisis  was  approaching ; 
and  he  advised  the  professor  to  dismiss  his  guests  and  get  his 
wife  to  bed.  His  foreboding  was  realized  sooner  than  he 
expected.  In  a  few  moments  later  Mrs.  Homerand  was  taken 
very  ill.  The  ladies  present  assisted  her  to  her  chamber,  and 
the  physician  contributed  his  skill.  For  half  an  hour  there 
was  a  painful  uncertainty,  and  the  anxious  husband  endured 
intense  agony.  The  memories  of  this  '•  red-letter  day"  crowded 
upon  him,  and  he  thought  of  the  terrible  curse  which  had 
been  pronounced  against  him.  Would  it  reach  the  life  of  his 
wife,  or  would  it  pass  away  ?  His  reflections  were  disturbed 
by  the  wail  of  a  new-born  infant.  Was  it  a  girl,  and  would 
it  bear  the  dreaded  name  of  Helen  ?     Or  was  it  a  boy  ? 

His  suspense  was  soon  relieved  by  the  appearance  of  the 
doctor,  who  came  into  the  room  smiling,  and  said,  "  Professor, 
allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  the  birth  of  your  son. 
Mother  and  child  are  both  doing  well,  and  there  is  no  danger, 
as  far  as  I  can  see  at  present,  of  any  other  serious  result  follow- 
ing the  fright  of  the  afternoon." 

The  eff"ect  of  this  announcement  upon  the  professor  was 
magical.  He  grasped  the  physician's  hand  with  a  vigor  which 
showed  how  powerfully  he  was  worked  up.  It  was.  the  first 
really  happy  moment  he  had  experienced  since  that  terrible 
midnight  hour,  just  one  year  ago.  After  tlie  arrival  of  the 
nurse  the  ladies  who  had  been  with  Mrs.  Homerand  took 
their  departure,  and  the  doctor  went  with  them,  promising  to 
call  early  next  day.  She  was  sleeping,  and  he  would  not 
disturb  her.  He  drew  his  arm-chair  up  before  the  fire,  and 
was  lost  in  reminiscence.  Was  it  possible  that  Helen's  curse 
would  in  any  way  afi'ect  him  or  his  wife  or  boy?  He  had 
often  read  of  curses  pronounced  upon  people,  but  they  came 
to  naught.  Why,  then,  should  he  trouble  himself  in  this 
matter?  If  it  were  possible  in  any  way  to  atone  for  his 
crime,  he  would  cheerfully  do  so.     A  financial  compensation 


64  ILIAN. 

was  out  of  the  question.  Helen's  fortune  was  double  the 
amount  of  his  own.  How  could  his  sin  be  expiated  ?  He 
had  deeply  repented.  Was  there  no  way  by  which  forgiveness 
could  be  extended  ?  His  sin  was  not  premeditated,  he  argued 
to  himself,  but  in  this  he  found  no  consolation,  for  his  action 
had  been  deliberate  and  against  a  confiding  girl.  He  must 
await  the  issue  of  the  curse. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ADRIEN. 


About  an  hour  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  preceding 
chapter  the  door  which  led  into  the  hall  creaked  on  its  hinges 
and  slowly  opened.  The  professor,  thinking  it  was  the  land- 
lady coming  to  inquire  about  his  wife  and  child,  said,  without 
turning  round,  "  Come  in,  Mrs.  Brown,  and  congratulate  me 
on  the  birth  of  my  baby  boy." 

There  was  no  response.  He  arose  and  went  to  the  door, 
but  found  no  one.  A  strange  thrill  came  over  him,  an  unde- 
fined dread,  and  a  feeling  as  though  some  one  from  the  dead 
was  in  the  room  with  him.  He  was  usually  a  man  with 
strong  nerves,  and  without  superstition,  and  therefore  not 
easily  alarmed  by  anything  seemingly  of  an  unearthly  character. 
He  stood  for  a  moment  undecided  what  to  do,  when  the  door 
of  his  wife's  chamber,  which  led  out  from  his  sitting-room, 
also  opened.  On  going  to  it  he  saw  the  nurse  sitting  by  the 
bedside.  She  raised  her  finger  in  warning  not  to  disturb  the 
sleeping  young  mother.  He  closed  the  door  again,  and,  going 
to  the  bell,  rang  it.  His  landlady  answered  it  in  person,  and 
as  she  came  into  the  room  she  wished  him  much  joy  and 
happiness.  She  told  him  that  the  doctor,  on  leaving,  had  left 
instructions  not  to  disturb  Mrs.  Homerand,  and  for  that  reason 
she  had  not  come  sooner ;  also,  that  she  had  prepared  a  bed 
for  him  in  another  room. 

Again  the  door  of  his  wife's  room  was  opened.  This  time 
the  nurse  herself  was  there,  and,  in  a  low  tone,  she  told  him 
that  Mrs.  Homerand  was  now  awake,  and  wished  to  see  him. 


ADRIEN.  65 

He  went  to  the  bedside,  and,  taking  her  hand,  said,  "  Martha, 
how  do  you  feel  now  ?" 

She  did  not  reply  to  the  question,  but,  without  opening  her 
eyes,  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  their  babe,  and  continued, 
like  one  in  a  dream,  "  His  grandfather  just  told  me  that  he  con- 
sidered him  a  splendid  boy,  one  of  the  old  Rathmine  stock." 

"  Grandfather  !"  ejaculated  the  professor. 

The  nurse  again  put  up  a  finger  of  warning,  and  pointed  to 
her  head.  He  understood  the  sign ;  his  wife's  mind  was 
slightly  wandering. 

"  You  will  see,"  she  went  on,  "  that  father  has  a  good  warm 
room  to-night;  he  must  be  tired  coming  that  long  distance, 
expressly  to  see  us,  and  to  greet  our  boy.  I  will  see  you  both 
in  the  morning.  Good-night."  And  she  turned  her  face  to  his 
for  a  good-night  kiss. 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  and  as  he  raised  his  head  that 
strange  thrill  again  came  over  him.  He  could  not  account 
for  the  feeling,  except  perhaps  on  the  ground  of  the  excite- 
ment of  the  afternoon  ;  not  for  a  moment  did  the  thought  enter 
his  mind  that  there  was  any  thing  supernatural.  It  might 
be  nervousness ;  he  did  not  allow  it  to  trouble  him.  He  left 
the  bedside  of  his  wife,  and  followed  the  landlady  to  the  apart- 
ment prepared  for  him.  Hardly  had  he  reached  the  middle 
of  the  room  when  the  door  slowly  opened.  He  looked  into 
the  passage,  but  all  was  darkness.  Supposing  that  it  was 
the  wind,  he  now  locked  the  door.  He  was  nevertheless  moved. 
His  face  grew  pale,  and  the  pulsations  of  his  heart  were 
quickened.  He  proceeded  to  search  the  apartment.  He 
looked  under  the  bed,  a  thing  he  rarely  did,  then  into  the 
closet,  and  behind  the  curtains  of  the  window.  There  was 
nothing  tangible  in  the  room.  He  walked  the  floor,  and 
reviewed  the  events  of  the  past  year.  Where  was  Helen  ? 
His  conscience  reproached  him  ;  tears  filled  his  eyes  at  the 
thought  of  her.  Would  there  ever  come  a  time  when  he 
could  forget  these  things  ?  It  was  past  the  midnight  hour 
when  he  finally  retired. 

When  he  went  to  his  wife's  chamber,  the  next  morning,  he 
learned  that  she  had  rested  comfortably,  and  her  mind  was 
clear.     She  spoke  with  a  smile, — 

"  Homer,  I  had  a  pleasant  dream  last  night.  I  thought 
that  my  father  had  come  over  unexpectedly  from  America, 
e  6* 


66  ILIAN. 

and  was  delighted  to  see  his  grandson.  He  was  very  pale, 
however,  and  seemed  to  be  ill.  If,  now,  he  and  mother  would 
only  join  us  for  the  winter,  how  pleasant  it  would  be.  Don't 
fail  to  write  to  them  both  to-day,  and  give  them  my  love." 

This  was  done,  and  the  letter  duly  posted.  In  those  days 
mail  communications  were  not  so  rapid  as  they  are  now.  The 
Cunard  Line  had  sent  out  their  pioneer  steamer  only  the 
year  previous. 

It  was  therefore  the  5th  of  December  when  a  letter  came 
to  the  professor  with  a  deep  mourning  border,  written  by  Mrs. 
Rathmine,  giving  the  intelligence  that  her  husband  had  died 
suddenly  at  five  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  15th  of  No- 
vember. He  had  prepared  a  dinner  in  commemoration  of  his 
birthday,  and  while  welcoming  the  guests  he  was  taken  with 
a  fit  of  apoplexy,  and  died  in  a  few  minutes.  Mrs.  Rathmine 
was  in  great  distress,  and  entreated  that  her  daughter  and  the 
professor  would  return  home  as  soon  as  possible.  If,  however, 
she  added,  they  were  not  able  to  take  the  ocean  voyage  in 
winter,  she  would  visit  them  abroad  in  the  spring. 

Thus,  one  life  of  that  family  was  extinguished  as  a  new  one 
was  ushered  in.  The  wail  of  the  infant  had  been  answered 
by  the  expiring  groan  of  the  judge,  who  had  just  reached  the 
mile-post  of  a  half-century.  Is  it  strange  that  his  disembodied 
spirit  should  seek  for  a  last  meeting  with  his  only  daughter 
and  her  husband,  and  that  it  was  gratified  to  meet  also  his 
grandson?  It  is  not  our  province  to  express  an  opinion  upon 
this  matter.  The  simple  fact  is  given,  and  we  must  leave  it 
thus  stated. 

Mrs.  Rathmine  came  over  to  England  the  ensuing  spring, 
and  remained  with  them  for  five  years,  going  from  city  to  city 
during  the  summer,  and  wintering  in  Dresden.  She  never 
fully  recovered  the  shock  occasioned  by  her  husband's  death. 
One  cold,  raw  day  in  October  she  took  a  violent  cold  while 
watching  a  military  display,  and  two  weeks  after  passed 
quietly  away  in  her  daughter's  arms.  Her  heart  had  been 
wrapped  up  in  her  grandson,  and  to  him  she  left  all  her 
worldly  possessions.  The  income  of  it  was  ample  for  one  of 
moderate  wants. 

The  next  spring  the  professor  and  his  wife  returned  to 
Boston,  taking  her  remains  with  them,  and  buried  them  by 
the  body  of  her  late  husband.     The  ensuing  twelve  months 


.  ADRIEN.  67 

were  spent  in  the  Homerand  mansion,  but  the  longing  for 
the  excitement  of  foreign  travel  was  too  strong  in  both 
husband  and  wife.  Again  they  made  preparations  to  return 
to  England,  by  the  now  established  Cunard  Line  from  Boston. 

Since  his  marriage,  Professor  Homerand  had  not  sought  in 
any  way  to  obtain  information  of  Helen  Claymuire.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  her  two  years  later.  It  merely  informed  him 
that  she  was  very  ill,  and  probably  would  not  recover.  A 
notice  on  the  back  in  red  ink,  dated  six  days  after  the  letter 
itself,  stated  that  the  writer  had  died  the  previous  day,  that  the 
enclosed  letter  was  found  sealed  and  directed  to  him,  and  had 
been  accordingly  forwarded  ;  he  also  received  a  slip  from  a 
paper,  describing  the  death  and  burial  of  a  highly  accom- 
plished young  American  lady,  Mrs.  E.  Mordine,  the  daughter 
of  the  late  Colonel  Claymuire,  of  South  Carolina.  It  added 
that  the  cause  of  death  was  consumption,  and  that  she  had 
endeared  herself  to  a  large  circle  of  friends,  who  mourned  the 
loss  of  one  so  beautiful  and  so  amiable. 

This  unlooked-for  intelligence  made  the  professor  very  ill, 
and  it  was  two  months  before  he  felt  able  to  resume  his  trav- 
els. Remorse  was  at  work,  and  he  felt  himself  guilty  of  mur- 
der. But  for  the  ministrations  of  his  devoted  wife,  and  the 
happy,  playful  disposition  of  his  boy,  he  would  perhaps,  by 
some  rash  act,  have  ended  his  agony  of  soul.  The  face  of  the 
wronged  Helen  was  continually  before  him.  He  redoubled 
his  attentions  to  Martha,  to  lull  any  suspicions  that  might 
arise  in  her  mind,  and  also,  if  possible,  to  quiet  the  shade  of 
the  unfortunate  deceased  one. 

Constant  travel  brought  relief  at  length,  and  only  at  times 
would  the  ghost  of  the  past  return.  But  conscience  took  care 
not  to  let  him  entirely  forget  his  crime. 

Thus  the  years  went,  bringing  a  premature  old  age  on  the 
professor  and  the  promise  of  a  noble  life  for  his  young  son. 
In  the  summer  of  his  sixteenth  year  the  Homerands  returned 
to  their  home  in  Boston,  to  enable  the  youth  to  enter  the 
Freshman  class  of  the  University,  of  whose  faculty  his  father 
had  been  an  honored  member. 

Adrien  exhibited  talents  that  were  of  a  high  order.  He 
was  entirely  free  from  the  vices  so  common  to  youth.  His 
home  was  a  paradise  to  him,  and  the  company  of  his  gifted 
father  and  loving  mother  was  preferable  to  any  other  society. 


68  ILIAN, 

He  came  home  every  Friday  evening  during  term-time,  and 
returned  on  the  Monday  following.  He  had  but  one  longing, 
and  that  was  for  the  ocean.  In  his  eighteenth  year  his  father 
purchased  for  him  a  small  schooner-yacht,  and  with  some 
of  his  classmates,  and  an  old  coasting  captain  for  a  pilot  and 
instructor,  and  a  cook  to  prepare  their  meals,  they  worked 
the  vessel  themselves,  and  spent  their  vacation  on  the  sea, 
going  sometimes  as  far  as  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence.  Adrien 
was  quick  to  learn,  and  soon  became  an  accomplished  seaman 
and  skilful  navigator. 

We  now  enter  upon  a  new  act  in  our  drama.     New  scenes, 
new  characters,  and  a  new  history  will  occupy  our  attention. 


BOOK    II.— 1861. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   SPIRITS   ABROAD. 

The  history  of  the  great  Rebellion  gains  in  interest  as 
the  actors  on  both  sides  pass  away,  and  a  new  generation 
arises  who  are  able  to  weigh  the  mighty  problems  without 
prejudice  that  in  the  seventh  decade  of  our  century  threw 
millions  of  people  into  fierce  conflict  one  against  the  other. 
The  blood  of  half  a  million  men  was  shed  before  the  decision 
was  reached.  It  would  be  digressing  from  the  aim  of  this 
narrative  to  enter  upon  the  discussions  that  for  years  agitated 
all  parts  of  the  country,  North  and  South,  East  and  West, 
and  which  required  the  arbitrament  of  the  sword  to  settle.  One 
of  the  most  powerful,  prophetic  representations  of  what  war 
meant  was  given  by  Harper  s  Weekly  in  1860.  Two  large 
pictures  were  published,  called  "  The  Spirits  Abroad."  It 
made  a  great  impression  at  the  time,  but  no  one  imagined  the 
awful  import  of  the  war-cloud  then  looming  over  the  land. 
The  details  of  this  great  struggle  have  been  fully  written  by 
other  writers,  and  we  can  only  take  up  such  portions  as  relate 
to  the  individuals  belonging  to  this  story. 

Adrien  was  to  graduate  in  June  of  this  year,  and  he  had 
arranged  to  dispose  of  his  small  vessel  and  purchase  a  larger 
one.  Ten  of  bis  friends,  most  of  them  his  classmates,  were 
invited  to  take  a  cruise  in  July  up  the  St.  Lawrence,  to  Mon- 
treal, and  as  far  as  the  Great  Lakes.  This  was  looked  forward 
to  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasant  expectation.  Adrien  stood  six 
feet,  powerfully  built,  and  was  acknowledged  by  all  to  be  the 
handsomest  man  in  his  class.  He  was  so  thoroughly  good- 
natured,  and  such  a  polished  gentleman,  that  he  was  called 
"  Lord  Chesterfield."     To  every  one,  even  the  humblest,  he 


70  I  LI  AN. 

was  polite  and  affable.  Never  would  he  speak  ill  of  any 
one,  and  he  positively  refused  to  listen  to  scandal  or  idle 
gossip.  A  tale-bearer  he  despised.  His  manly  nature  re- 
coiled from  association  with  such  thieves  of  character,  those 
who  take  delight  in  aspersing  the  reputation  of  their  fellows. 
Even  the  animals  saemed  by  some  instinct  to  know  that  he 
was  their  champion  against  cruelty.  His  record  at  college 
was  one  of  the  brightest  in  the  annals  of  the  famous  seat  of 
learning,  in  whose  classic  halls  some  of  the  most  briUiant 
minds  in  the  country  had  been  instructed.  He  was  the 
umpire  not  only  in  his  own  class,  but  with  the  juniors.  Day 
after  day  was  heard  the  expression,  "  Let  Adrien  decide  the 
point."  The  young  men  would  gather  around  him  while, 
calmly  as  a  judge  upon  the  bench,  he  would  patiently  hear 
both  sides  of  a  dispute  or  argument,  and  then  give  his  decision, 
which  was  always  accepted  like  one  of  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians,  final  and  fixed.  His  purse  was  freely  opened 
to  the  needy  student,  and  his  assistance  was  tendered  in  a 
quiet  way,  merely  as  a  loan  to  be  repaid  at  some  future  time. 
He  made  the  recipient  of  his  bounty  feel  that  it  was  a  privilege 
to  be  permitted  to  lend  money  to  one  who  might  become  a 
great  lawyer,  an  eminent  doctor,  a  celebrated  clergyman,  or  a 
merchant  prince.  Adrien  was  of  a  sanguine  disposition,  and 
continually  cheered  the  despondent  by  glowing  pictures  of 
what  the  future  would  bring  forth.  The  silver  lining  of  the 
dark  clouds  was  soon  made  apparent  under  his  manipulation. 
Never  was  his  tact  more  needed  than  during  the  month  of 
March,  after  the  inauguration  of  President  Lincoln.  The 
spirits  of  union  and  disunion  were  abroad  in  the  land,  and 
nowhere  was  there  such  fierce  controversies  as  in  the  town 
where  the  college  was  situated. 

Many  of  the  sons  of  the  leading  families  of  the  South  were 
students.  They  admired  Adrien,  and  accepted  his  views  on 
other  points,  yet  on  the  burning  question  of  the  hour  they 
remembered  that  he  was  of  the  Kathmine  and  Homerand 
stock,  and  therefore  could  not  be  in  sympathy  with  the  up- 
holders of  disunion.  Nevertheless  he  prevented  many  severe 
conflicts  between  the  young  men  representing  the  North  and 
the  South. 

Often,  when  some  of  them  were  white  with  passion  in  the 
heat  of  an  argument  and  ready  to  proceed  to  blows,  Adrien's 


THE  SPIRITS  ABROAD.     •  71 

humorous  remarks  would  set  them  laughinir,  and  the  little 
quarrels  were  suspended.  The  booming:  of  Sumter's  guns 
reached  the  college  on  the  15th  of  April,  and  the  war  fever 
spread  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  The  call  to  arms, 
although  it  came  unexpectedly,  found  the  loyal  sons  of  New 
England  as  ready  to  defend  the  old  flag  as  their  fathers  had 
been  nearly  a  century  before.  But  the  experience  was  a  new 
one.  It  was  against  no  foreign  adversary,  but  a  domestic 
one. 

It  was  a  fratricidal  contest.  All  over  the  land,  from  the  ex- 
treme northern  boundary  to  distant  Texas,  in  the  far  Western 
States,  whose  shores  are  washed  by  the  waters  of  the  Pacific,  and 
in  those  whose  barrier  was  the  great  Atlantic,  there  was  but  one 
topic  of  discussion,  and  that  was  war.  By  day  and  by  night 
were  the  preparations  hurried  forward.  Regiments  were  form- 
ing and  hastening  to  the  front.  The  Sixth  Massachusetts, 
mostly  from  Lowell,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Benjamin 
F.  Butler,  afterwards  the  distinguished  major-general,  had  re- 
sponded the  day  after  the  proclamation,  and  left  on  the  6th 
of  April  for  Washington.  Massachusetts  was  in  the  front, 
and  her  loyal  sons  were  volunteering  as  fast  as  they  could  be 
armed  and  equipped.  Farewells  were  rapidly  spoken,  and 
oaths  of  allegiance  to  the  Federal  government  were  taken 
by  lips  that  afterwards  were  mute  and  cold  upon  the  field 
of  battle.  At  Adrien's  college  all  the  Southern  students 
left  at  once  for  their  homes.  Among  them  were  several 
who  were  deeply  attached  to  him.  There  were  two  in  par- 
ticular, one  from  New  Orleans,  of  French  extraction,  Henry 
Rechard,  and  the  other  a  scion  of  one  of  the  oldest  families 
of  South  Carolina,  Thomas  Jeifords.  They  both  sought  out 
Adrien,  and  candidly  told  him  that  they  proposed  to  ofi'er 
their  services  to  their  respective  States.  Earnest  and  powerful 
were  the  arguments  put  forth  by  him  to  dissuade  them. 
Never  did  he  plead  with  such  eloquent  fervor,  but  to  no 
purpose. 

Failure  to  respond  to  the  call  of  their  States  would  brand 
them  as  cowards,  and  cut  them  off  from  all  family  associations. 
We  have  no  occasion  here  to  enter  into  the  details  of  the  im- 
portant questions  of  that  time  and  the  tenor  of  the  argu- 
ments used  by  both  parties  as  justification  of  their  course.  It 
was  not  the  sudden  uprising  from  some  trivial  cause,  such  as 


72  ILIAN. 

in  the  past  had  led  to  fierce  wars  between  rival  kingdoms,  but 
it  extended  back  to  the  foundation  of  the  government. 

The  notes  that  guide  me  in  this  description  are  not  con- 
secutive in  their  details,  and  much  labor  has  been  necessary 
to  unravel  the  facts  in  the  case.  Several  of  the  individuals 
connected  with  my  story  kept  a  diary  of  events,  and  I  have 
thought  best  to  publish  many  of  the  letters  as  they  are  found. 

Somewhere  I  have  read  that  "  living,  human  beings  are  but 
sport  for  their  dead  predecessors."  Strange  as  it  may  appear, 
yet  I  solemnly  assure  my  readers  that  in  some  of  the  pre- 
ceeding  pages  my  pen  has  traced  out  the  lines  and  characters 
apparently  guided  by  some  external  controlling  impulse. 
Ever  and  anon  I  hear  the  words  "  Hasten  on,  hasten  on." 


CHAPTER  II. 

UNION   VS.   DISUNION. 


"The  sound  of  the  war-drum  shall  thrill  thee  at  night, 
As  thy  sons  and  thy  brothers  are  borne  to  the  fight; 
The  slave  and  the  cotton  shall  stab  thee  with  pain, 
And  the  North  and  the  South  be  divided  in  twain." 

From  lip  to  lip  went  the  question,  "  Are  you  for  the  Union 
or  against  it?"  There  was  no  neutral  ground  that  could 
be  maintained  with  honor.  Those  who  attempted  it  were  de- 
spised by  both  contestants. 

As  I  have  already  stated,  Adrien  was  a  strong  champion  for 
the  Union  cause,  while  his  classmates,  Henry  Rechard  and 
Thomas  Jeffords,  were  for  the  South.  In  order  to  rightly  es- 
timate the  conduct  and  character  of  our  fellows,  we  must  go 
back  to  the  antecedents  of  their  birth  and  early  associations 
and  training. 

Henry  Rechard  was  born  of  wealthy  parents,  in  the  city  of 
New  Orleans,  in  1838.  His  father  was  an  eminent  physician, 
who  had  been  educated  in  Paris.  At  the  opening  of  the  war 
Henry  was  in  his  twenty- third  year.  He  had  already  gradu- 
ated from  the  college,  and  was  pursuing  his  studies  in  medi- 


umoy^  vs.  disunion.  73 

cine.  He  possessed  a  wiry  frame,  and  was  m  the  enjoyment 
of  perfect  health.  His  hair  was  brown,  with  a  slight  mous- 
tache of  the  same  color.  His  dark-blue  eyes  when  in  repose 
gave  out  a  dreamy  expression,  as  though  the  owner  was  living 
in  a  far-off  world  of  his  own.  When  roused  by  passion,  or  if 
his  sympathies  were  excited  by  any  act  of  oppression,  the 
whole  man  seemed  changed  into  another  being,  and  woe 
betide  the  individual  who  crossed  his  path  when  his  blood  was 
up.  His  classmates  described  him  as  an  angel  most  of  the 
time,  gentle  and  amiable  in  disposition,  but  occasionally,  under 
great  provocation,  he  would  exhibit  a  character  of  another 
mould,  and  develop  into  something  not  prudent  to  molest. 

Rechard  was  the  soul  of  honor.  He  prized  this  quality  so 
much  that  he  looked  upon  the  violation  of  it  as  the  sin  never 
to  be  forgiven.  He  was  gifted  with  a  keen  penetration  into 
human  nature.  His  fellow-students  used  to  affirm  that  he 
could  tell  what  an  individual  had  for  dinner  the  day  previous. 

Next  to  Adrien,  he  was  their  confidant.  While  the  other 
was  the  judge,  he  was  the  counsellor.  On  the  1st  of  May,  just 
two  weeks  after  the  fall  of  Sumter,  he  severed  his  connection 
with  his  Alma  Mater.  He  immediately  sent  his  trunks  to 
the  railway  station,  preparatory  to  leaving  for  the  South.  He 
then  waited  for  Adrien  till  he  came  out  of  the  class-room  at 
noon,  and  asked  him  to  see  him  off. 

They  went  together  arm  in  arm,  these  two  young  men  who 
were  to  be  so  strangely  thrown  together  during  the  closing 
years  of  the  terrible  war.  When  they  stood  on  the  platform 
by  the  waiting  train,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  they  clasped 
hands  to  say  good-by. 

"  Here  we  part,  Adrien,"  said  Rechard.  "  Perhaps  when 
next  we  meet  it  will  be  as  enemies  in  conflict.  I  feel  sure  that 
you  will  enter  into  the  service  of  your  State,  and  I  am  certain 
no  earthly  power  could  swerve  you  from  what  you  believe  to 
be  the  path  of  duty.  You  will  always  be  found  faithful 
in  regard  to  all  that  concerns  an  honorable  man  in  the  path 
he  has  chosen." 

"  My  hand  and  my  heart,"  answered  Adrien,  "  will  at  all 
times  be  at  your  service,  provided  such  action  does  not  con- 
flict with  my  allegiance  to  the  Union  cause.  A  thousand 
blessings  on  your  head,  and  may  God  defend  the  right." 

"  Amen,"  answered  Rechard,  as,  with  his  bright  eyes  filled 
D  7 


74  ILIAN. 

with  the  tears  he  could  not  keep  back,  he  returned  the  press- 
ure of  his  friend's  hand.  "  If  we  can  only  meet  as  enemies, 
then  I  trust  we  will  not  do  so  until  the  conflict  is  settled  one 
way  or  the  other.  I  know  that  I  will  hear  of  your  deeds 
of  valor,  for  your  star  is  destined  to  rise  in  the  red  firmament 
of  war.  Since  the  hour  that  I  first  met  you,  you  have  been 
my  ideal  of  honor  and  self-respect  in  its  highest  development, 
and  the  pain  at  parting  with  you  is  the  keenest  I  have  ever 
endured.  Whatever  the  issues  may  be  to  others,  we  never 
can  be  enemies.  May  God  help  us  both  to  do  our  duty  ;  and 
now,  farewell." 

A  moment  afterwards  he  stood  on  the  platform  of  the 
moving  train  and  waved  his  adieu.  Thus  they  parted.  Little 
did  they  think  that,  when  next  they  should  meet,  the  skill 
of  the  one  should  save  the  life  of  the  other. 

Thomas  Jeffords  first  saw  the  light  of  day  on  his  father's 
plantation  in  South  Carolina.  He  came  into  the  world  under 
several  disadvantages,  which  may  serve  as  an  excuse  for  some 
of  his  shortcomings  ;  at  least,  he  always  pleaded  them  himself. 
He  was  of  the  same  age  as  Adrien,  having  been  born  on  the 
tenth  day  in  the  same  mouth ;  and  he  often  declared  that  in 
this  stirring  generation  five  days  counted  for  a  good  deal. 
How  the  high-toned  Adrien  ever  became  attached  to  Tom 
Jefi"ords  was  always  a  marvel  to  the  other  students.  Jeffords 
was  in  the  class  below  him,  and  had  very  few  friends  in  the 
school.  He  was  not  a  favorite  with  any  of  the  professors,  and 
yet  they  were  compelled  to  credit  him  with  the  term  "  excel- 
lent" in  his  recitations.  He  seemed  to  be  always  in  luck. 
His  class  being  a  large  one,  only  a  few  were  called  upon  to 
recite  each  day.  His  classmates  affirmed  that  he  had  some 
animal  instinct  by  which  he  could  invariably  tell  when  he 
would  be  called  on,  and  so  was  ready.  He  had  a  perfect 
command  over  the  muscles  of  his  face.  This,  perhaps,  was 
the  secret  that  he  did  not  impart.  When  he  wanted  to  be 
called  upon  to  recite,  he  would  assume  a  frightened,  depreca- 
tory air,  as  though  dreading  to  be  selected  to  tell  what  he 
knew  about  the  subject  for  the  day.  On  the  contrary,  when 
he  was  not  prepared,  he  would  exhibit  a  confident,  knowing 
look,  and  keep  searching  the  professor's  eye  as  though  solicit- 
ing a  call.  These  tactics  worked  to  a  charm  at  all  times,  and 
so  his  record  in  his  class  was  good. 


UNION    vs.  DISUNION.  75 

He  had  a  powerful  memory  and  unlimited  self-assurance, 
which  carried  him  through  the  quarterly  examinations.  His 
uncle,  who  had  brought  him  up,  destined  him  for  the  profes- 
sion of  the  law.  I  have  remarked  that  he  was  ushered  into 
the  world  under  several  disadvantages.  His  first  wail  was 
that  of  an  orphan,  for  practically  he  had  no  mother  nor  father. 
Ten  days  before  his  birth  the  latter  had  been  killed  by  being 
thrown  from  his  horse,  and  his  mother  never  got  over  the 
shock.  She  died  before  she  could  give  birth  to  her  baby,  and 
the  sharp  knife  of  a  skilful  surgeon  had  saved  his  infantile 
life.  He  possessed  a  slender  figure,  and  was  of  delicate  con- 
stitution, but  nature  gave  him  a  powerful  weapon  of  defence 
in  his  tongue.  He  could  utter  more  words  to  the  given 
minute,  some  of  them  red-hot,  than  most  boys  of  his  age  could 
in  an  hour.  In  regard  to  honor  and  patriotism,  he  had  pecu- 
liar notions  of  his  own,  which  will  be  made  apparent  as  our 
story  unfolds. 

Tom,  notwithstanding  all  this,  had  many  good  qualities  whicli 
his  profane  old  uncle  had  never  sought  to  develop.  He  always 
prided  himself  on  one  thing, — viz.,  he  never  told  a  deliberate 
lie.  He  sometimes  went  very  near  the  hmit,  but  never  crossed 
it.  Tom  was  rather  luxurious  in  his  tastes,  for  which  he  ob- 
tained the  means  by  telling  his  uncle  that  the  expenses  of  a 
true-blooded  Southern  gentleman  were  always  more  than  those 
incurred  by  the  son  of  a  Yankee  shopkeeper.  On  this  point 
the  old  man  was  weak.  He  sent  him  a  liberal  sum  of  money 
to  liquidate  all  claims  and  pay  his  passage  home.  He  directed 
him  to  leave  at  once  that  cursed  abolition  university,  and  to 
shake  the  dust  of  the  Yankee  town  off  his  feet.  Tom  was  so 
indiscreet  as  to  show  his  uncle's  letter  to  some  of  his  classmates. 
A  committee  was  at  once  appointed  to  "  give  him  a  good  send- 
off."  What  the  arrangements  were  was  not  made  known,  but 
a  feather  pillow  was  contributed,  and  a  gallon  of  tar  was  pur- 
chased. "Tom  Jeff"  (as  he  was  nicknamed)  got  an  inkling 
in  some  way  of  the  grand  demonstration  that  was  preparing 
in  his  honor,  so  he  took  the  advice  of  Lady  Macbeth  to  her 
guests, — not  to  stand  on  the  order  of  going,  but  to  go  at  once. 
He  left  the  college  by  a  back  street,  and  was  soon  on  his  way 
to  his  Southern  home. 


76  ILIAN. 

CHAPTER    III. 
Hannibal's  oath. 

All  who  entered  the  service  of  the  Federal  government 
were  obliged  to  take  a  solemn  oath  of  allegiance.  We  now 
invite  our  readers  to  listen  to  an  oath  more  appalling  in  its 
nature,  and  more  disastrous  in  its  consequences,  than  any 
taken  by  the  loyal  sons  of  the  North. 

In  a  street  leading  from  the  Boston  Common,  in  a  massive 
granite  stone  house,  a  scene  was  enacted  on  the  3d  of  May 
that  gave  rise  to  the  details  of  this  story.  In  a  large  front 
room,  luxuriously  furnished,  sat  in  an  easy-chair  a  beautiful 
woman.  A  superficial  observer  would  have  said  that  she  was 
a  little  past  thirty.  A  closer  inspection  would  have  shown 
her  abundant  black  hair  tinged  with  gray,  and  yet,  judging 
from  the  absence  of  all  wrinkles,  she  could  not  have  been 
more  than  forty.  Her  eyes  still  retained  their  youthful 
sparkle.  On  her  face,  on  this  particular  morning,  there  was 
an  expression  as  of  heavenly  sweetness,  but  blended  with  a 
vindictive  animosity  that  was  startling  to  behold.  On  her  lap 
lay  the  morning  newspaper.  A  short  paragraph  in  it  had  roused 
all  the  latent  evil  of  her  nature  to  its  utmost  activity,  giving 
her  a  resemblance  to  the  description  of  another  woman, — 
viz.,  that  she  was  a  "  beautiful  devil."  The  only  occupant  of 
the  room  with  her  was  a  young  girl  of  about  twenty  years. 
To  attempt  the  portraiture  of  the  latter  in  a  single  brief  para- 
graph would  be  a  diflficult  matter.  She  was  Hke  some  great 
work  of  art  on  canvas  or  marble,  that  needed  to  be  studied  to  be 
understood.  Little  by  little,  however,  we  shall  become  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  heroine  of  our  story.  She  had  a  book  in  her 
hand, — Pope's  translation  of  Homer, — and  was  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  exciting  description  of  the  single  combat  of  Uljsses 
and  Hector  before  the  walls  of  Troy.  She  rose  suddenly  from 
her  chair,  and,  closing  her  book,  said,  in  a  sorrowful  tone, — 

'*  Oh,  dear,  Hector  is  killed  ;  I  am  so  sorry  for  him," 

"  Hector  who  ?"  exclaimed  the  older  lady,  in  an  angry 
tone. 


HANNIBAL'S  OATH.  77 

"  Why,  Hector,  the  son  of  Priam,  the  brave  defender  of 
Troy.  Have  you  never  read  Homer,  auntie?  It  is  a 
charming  book." 

"  Homer !"  exclaimed  her  aunt,  rising  from  her  seat,  and 
facing  the  girl  before  her  with  a  look  of  intense  bitterness. 
Her  face  was  pale,  and  her  eyes  fairly  blazed  like  electric 


Child,"  she  said,  "why  do  you  choose  such  literature? 
It  is  not  a  proper  book  for  a  young  lady.  Homer,  indeed !  I 
detest  the  name." 

"  Why,  auntie,"  exclaimed  the  astonished  girl,  "  what 
could  Homer  have  had  to  do  with  you  ?  You  look  as  though 
you  would  like  to  tear  him  to  pieces." 

"  Read  that  paragraph,"  replied  her  aunt,  fiercely,  as  she 
handed  her  niece  the  newspaper  which  was  crumpled  in  her 
hand.  The  girl  took  the  paper  and  read  the  article  indi- 
cated. 

"  I  do  not  see  any  thing  extraordinary  in  that,"  said  she  ;  "  I 
read  it  this  morning.  It  only  refers  to  the  gallant  conduct 
of  Adrien  Homerand.  Two  days  ago  he  prevented  a  violent 
demonstration  by  the  students  at  his  university  against  some 
of  the  Southern  young  men  who  were  preparing  to  leave  for 
their  homes.  The  editor  declares  that  lasting  disgrace  would 
have  rested  upon  the  institution  if  violence  bad  been  ofi'ered 
them.  You  know,  auntie,  I  love  your  native  State,  dear  old 
South  Carolina,  where  we  have  spent  such  happy  days.  At 
the  same  time,  I  respect  the  devotion  of  the  Northern  people 
to  their  cause.  I  think  Mr.  Homerand  did  a  noble  act,  and  I 
admire  him  for  it." 

"  Ilian,"  said  her  aunt,  grasping  her  arm,  and  almost 
hissing  out  her  words,  "  tell  me,  have  you  ever  met  Adrien 
Homerand?" 

"  Not  to  speak  to  him,"  the  girl  replied  ;  "  but  I  have  seen 
him  several  times,  and  I  think  that,  without  exception,  he  is 
the  handsomest  young  man  I  ever  gazed  upon.  I  would  like 
to  be  introduced  to  him." 

"  Curse  him !  and  curses  upon  his  father,  and  upon  the 
whole  brood  of  them !"  shouted  the  now  infuriated  woman. 

Ilian  looked  on  in  amazement.  Had  her  aunt  lost  her 
reason?     What  could  have  caused  this  terrible  outburst? 

She  was  aware  that  her  aunt  had  periodical  fits  of  de- 
7* 


78  ILIAN. 

spondency,  but  never  had  she  seen  her  so  excited.  She  at- 
tempted to  soothe  her,  and  tried  to  put  her  arm  around  her 
neck.  A  single  look  from  those  vindictive  eyes,  now  blazing 
with  passion,  warned  her  to  desist.  The  tears  came  into  her 
eyes.  The  woman  had  been  as  a  mother  to  her,  and  had 
never  repelled  her  before  in  such  a  manner. 

Her  aunt  had  been  married,  when  a  young  girl,  to  a  man 
very  much  older  than  herself,  and  he  died  three  years  later. 
He  belonged  to  the  old  English  family  of  the  Yerderes,  and 
she  had  remained  a  widow  ever  since.  As  they  had  ample 
means,  most  of  their  time  had  been  spent  abroad.  Several 
winters  they  lived  on  their  plantation  near  Columbia,  in  South 
Carolina,  and  had  come  from  it  only  a  few  weeks  previous,  and 
were  now  on  their  way  to  Paris. 

Ilian  was  loving  and  demonstrative  in  her  disposition,  and 
the  action  of  her  aunt  in  refusing  to  allow  her  caresses  wounded 
her  deeply.  She  sank  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears.  This  was  like  oil  on  the  waters.  The  storm  subsided. 
Mrs.  Yerdere  brought  a  chair  along-side  of  the  weeping  girl, 
and  said,  in  a  kind  tone, — 

"  Ilian,  my  child,  I  did  not  mean  to  wound  your  feelings, 
but  when  I  think  of  your  mother's  wrongs,  I  can  at  times 
hardly  control  myself." 

Ilian  looked  up  with  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Her  aunt 
gently  drew  the  beautiful  face  to  her  bosom,  and  kissed  her  so 
afi"ectionately  that  the  glad  smile  came  back. 

"  Auntie,"  she  replied,  "  you  often  promised  to  tell  me  of  my 
mother's  history.  Why  not  now  ?  This  is  my  birthday. 
We  are  to  have  a  few  friends  this  evening,  and  I  was  ex- 
pecting to  have  obtained  an  introduction  to  Adrien  Home- 
rand,  so  that  I  could  have  invited  him  to  our  reception.  All 
the  girls  of  Boston  are  raving  about  him,  and  I " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished,  for  her  aunt  checked  her 
with  a  question,  uttered  in  a  tone  of  voice  so  hollow  that  it 
might  have  come  from  the  dead,  it  was  so  weird  and  thrilling. 

"Ilian,  would  you,  if  I  were  murdered,  invite  the  son  of 
my  murderer  to  your  home,  and  feast  him  ?" 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  I  would  kill  any 
man  or  woman  that  dared  to  offer  you  violence."  And  the  eyes 
of  the  young  girl  flashed  a  dangerous  fire,  showing  the  embryo 
passsion  that  was  lurking  beneath  the  fair  exterior. 


HANNIBAL'S  OATH.  79 

"  Ilian,"  continued  her  aunt,  "  some  other  time  I  will  tell 
you  the  story  of  your  unhappy  mother.  One  thing  I  will 
tell  you  now,  and  that  is  the  stern  fact  that  Professor  Home- 
rand  was  the  main  cause  of  your  mother's  death.  They  were 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  he  abruptly  broke  off  the  engage- 
ment, and  married  his  present  wife.  I  went  with  her  to 
England,  where  she  met  your  father  and  married  him  after 
a  short  courtship.  She  died  in  giving  you  birth,  as  I  have 
already  told  you,  and  your  father  grieved  so  after  her  that  he 
also  died  in  a  few  months.  She  suffered  so  from  nervous 
prostration  that  it  left  her  no  vitality  to  withstand  your  birth. 
In  the  face  of  all  this,  do  you  wish  to  have  the  son  of  the 
man  who  was  the  main  cause  of  her  untimely  death  at  our 
house  this  evening,  and  sitting  at  our  table?  If  so,  I  will 
at  once  obtain  an  introduction." 

The  horrified  expression  on  the  face  of  the  girl  assured 
Mrs.  Verdere  that  the  moment  was  at  hand  to  which  she  had 
looked  forward  for  many  years. 

"  Ilian,  have  you  ever  heard  of  Hannibal's  oath  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  Hannibal  was  one  of  the  three  sons  of 
Hamilcar,  the  great  Carthagenian  warrior.  His  father  made 
Hannibal  take  an  oath  of  perpetual  hatred  to  the  Romans, 
and  he  carried  war  and  desolation  into  their  midst  for  many 
years." 

"  Exactly  ;  and  your  mother,  on  her  dying  bed,  made  me 
promise,  when  you  were  of  age,  to  get  you  to  take  an  oath  of 
perpetual  enmity  to  Professor  Homerand  and  his  family. 
Now  you  know  the  reason  why  I  cannot,  for  your  mother's 
cause,  endure  the  name  of  Homer ;  for  the  sake  of  the  dead 
and  the  love  of  her  who  gave  you  birth,  will  you  solemnly 
promise  to  carry  out  her  wish  ?" 

"  Oh,  auntie,  this  is  so  sudden,  and  an  oath  like  that  is 
teiTible ;  is  there  no  way  out  of  it  ?  Was  she  in  her  right 
mind  when  she  asked  you  to  carry  out  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  conscious  as  I  am  to-day.  But  you  hesitate. 
Which  do  you  prefer,  an  eternal  blessing  or  a  curse?" 

"  Will  you  not  give  me  time  to  ponder  this  matter  over  ?" 

"  No,  not  a  moment.  I  am  surprised  that  you  ask  for  such 
a  delay.     This  must  be  done  now." 

"Am  I  to  understand  that,  if  I  fail  to  comply  with  this 
request,  I  will  entail  upon  myself  a  mother's  curse?" 


80  I  LI  AN. 

''  Yes,  I  have  so  stated." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  and  then  Ilian,  in  a  low, 
frightened  tone,  said,  "  I  swear  to  do  as  my  mother  wished 
me,  by  all  my  hopes  of  heaven  and  by  all  my  fear  of  hell." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

FATHER  MURPHY. 


In  a  manufacturing  town  of  Massachusetts,  not  far  from 
Boston,  there  stood,  on  one  of  its  side  streets,  a  beautiful 
church  edifice,  built  of  wood,  in  Gothic  style,  and  painted 
white.  Its  modest  tower  did  not  seek  to  rival  its  more 
pretentious  neighbors  by  rising  into  the  clouds.  It  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  cross  of  golden  hue.  The  bell  was  soft  in  tone, 
which  did  not  jar  upon  the  ears  like  that  of  others  in  the  same 
place.  The  good  Catholic  priest  who  was  its  pastor  called  it 
a  chapel.  He  might  have  termed  it  a  church,  for  it  could 
seat  five  hundred  people.  But  Father  Murphy  was  not 
ostentatious,  either  in  private  or  public  life.  Many  of  his  par- 
ishioners declared  that  he  was  too  modest,  and  that  this  was 
a  virtue  not  appreciated  in  this  forward  age.  He  had  travelled 
over  a  large  part  of  Europe,  and  had  visited  many  of  the 
States,  going  as  far  as  California.  His  church,  proud  of  their 
pastor,  had  two  years  previously  raised  a  liberal  sum  of  money 
aad  sent  him  on  a  visit  to  Rome.  A  six  months'  tour  had 
been  rich  in  experience,  and  his  parishioners  reaped  the 
benefit.  Travel,  and  its  consequent  mixing  with  all  sorts  of 
people,  had  broadened  his  mind.  He  was  liberal  in  his  views  ; 
being  thoroughly  honest  himself,  he  gave  others  credit  for 
being  sincere  in  their  belief,  although  they  might  differ  from 
him  in  doctrine.  His  manner  was  genial  to  all,  rich  as  well 
as  poor.  A  high,  square  forehead  was  a  token  that  Nature 
had  been  lavish  in  mental  gifts,  but  one  quality  he  lacked,  and 
that  was  ambition.  Yet  he  was  active  and  energetic  in  church 
work,  and  zealous  in  the  performance  of  the  multitudinous 
duties  of  a  pastorate,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  rise  to  a  higher 


FATHER   MURPHY.  81 

position.  Time  and  again  he  was  told  that  his  great  talents 
were  wasted  in  the  small  parish  over  which  he  gently  ruled. 
He  ought  to  be  a  bishop.  To  this  he  invariably  replied  that 
he  preferred  his  quiet  work,  and  hoped  to  live  and  die  with 
his  present  charge.  His  chapel  was  opened  each  day  from  sun- 
rise to  one  hour  after  sunset ;  and  every  week-day  afternoon  he 
was  always  found  there  to  give  a  word  of  counsel  or  comfort  to 
any  one  who  might  seek  him.  They  came  regularly,  the  old 
and  young,  and  the  middle-aged  ;  men  of  business  came  when 
things  went  wrong,  and  always  went  away  with  a  glow  of  sun- 
shine in  their  faces;  mothers  sought  his  advice  when  the 
burden  and  cares  of  their  household  were  too  heavv.  and  on 
their  return  home  their  children  would  exclaim,  "  Where  has 
mother  been,  she  looks  so  happy  ?"  And  so  it  was,  year  after 
year.  By  the  sick-bed  he  was  found  when  needed,  but  he 
never  intruded  his  services  when  not  desired.  The  worthy 
priest  was  careful  to  avoid  all  occasion  for  scandal,  by  seeing 
every  one  in  the  church.  He  would  go  from  pew  to  pew,  talk^ 
encourage  those  present,  and  then  retire  to  his  modest  cottage 
attached  to  the  rear  of  the  chapel,  where  a  widowed  sister 
kept  house  for  him. 

One  afternoon  in  the  latter  part  of  May  the  sky,  which  had 
been  clear  all  day,  became  darkened  by  a  heavily-charged 
cloud,  which  passed  rapidly  over  the  town  and  opened  sud- 
denly its  flood-gates;  it  did  not  rain,  it  poured.  Pedestrians 
sought  shelter  wherever  they  could.  A  lady,  richly  dressed, 
was  caught  in  the  shower  two  blocks  away,  and  by  the  time 
she  reached  the  vestibule  of  the  chapel  she  was  drenched 
through.  As  she  stood  there  Father  Murphy  came  towards 
her,  and,  bowing  with  that  ease  of  manner  which  only  the  true 
gentleman  can  exhibit,  expressed  his  regret  that  she  had  been 
caught  in  the  unexpected  rain,  and  invi'ted  her  into  his  house, 
where  his  sister  would  be  at  her  service.  The  lady  at  first 
declined,  saying  that  she  was  anxious  to  reach  her  home  in 
Boston,  and  was  then  on  her  way  to  the  station.  She  was  a 
stranger  in  the  place,  and  came  by  the  noon  train  to  get  some 
information  about  a  private  matter.  Just  then  the  whistle 
of  the  locomotive  was  heard,  and  the  priest  smiled  as  he 
said, — 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  not  get  the  four  o'clock  train,  and 
there  is  no  other  before  six,  which  is  a  slow  one.     It  will 
/ 


82  ILIAN. 

therefore  be  fully  four  hours  before  you  Ccan  reach  your  home, 
and  to  remain  in  your  wet  garments  that  length  of  time  would 
endanger  your  life." 

The  lady  accepted  the  offer  of  hospitality,  and  went  to  the 
cottage,  where  the  sister  took  charge  of  her. 

The  pastor  returned  to  his  chapel,  to  find  twoscore  people 
assembled,  most  of  them  refugees  from  the  storm.  He  had  a 
smile  and  pleasant  greeting  for  each.  At  five  the  cloud  passed 
over,  and  the  sun  far  in  the  western  horizon  filled  all  the  land- 
scape with  the  golden  beauty  of  its  parting  rays.  It  was  a 
glorious  scene,  and  the  priest  stood  in  the  rear  of  his  chapel, 
admiring  the  grandeur  of  the  picture  which  no  painter  could 
produce.  At  last  he  remembered  his  guest.  It  wanted  thirty 
minutes  to  the  time  when  the  next  train  would  leave  for 
l^oston,  but  the  station  was  only  five  minutes  distant.  When 
he  entered  his  parlor  he  found  her  waiting  to  express  her 
thanks.  Her  outer  garments  had  been  dried  before  the 
kitchen  fire,  and  his  sister  had  furnished  a  change  of  under- 
liuen,  and  she  was  now  anxious  to  get  home.  The  experienced 
eye  of  Father  Murphy  read  at  a  glance  that  the  woman  before 
him  was  no  ordinary  person ;  that  she  was  wealthy  was  ap- 
parent from  the  texture  of  tier  apparel  and  the  two  large  soli- 
taire diamond  ear-rings  which  shone  resplendent  from  her  ears. 
Her  choice  language  and  dignified,  yet  extremely  courteous, 
behavior,  were  evidences  of  superior  education  and  birth.  She 
earnestly  invited  the  priest  and  his  sister  to  visit  her  iu 
Boston  before  she  sailed  for  Europe  in  the  middle  of  June. 
She  was  not  a  native  of  the  old  Bay  State,  but  came  from 
South  Carolina.  She  hoped  that  the  outbreak  of  civil  war 
bad  not  extinguished  kindly  feelings  in  their  hearts  for  those 
who,  through  no  choice  of  their  own,  first  saw  the  light  of  day 
in  the  f\ir-off  South,  and  who,  as  a  sequence,  were  deeply  in- 
terested in  the  welfare  of  the  seceding  States. 

Father  Murphy  and  his  sister  had  both  been  born  in  Mas- 
sachusetts, and  their  patriotism  was  fully  aroused,  but  here 
was  a  woman,  and  a  beautiful  one  at  that,  who  was  their 
guest,  and  how  could  they  have  any  but  the  most  friendly 
feelings  for  her  ?  Both  took  her  hands,  and  assured  her  they 
hoped  that  the  acquaintance  formed  through  the  accident  of 
a  thunder-storm  might  develop  into  the  bright  sunshine  of 
a  life-long  friendship.     The  lady  handed  her  card,  on  which 


FATHER   MURPHY.  83 

was  written  '•'■  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Verdere, Street,  Boston." 

"  Just  oflF  the  Common,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  the  place  and  the  house  very  well,"  said  Father 
Murphy  ;  "  I  have  been  there  before." 

A  grave  look  came  over  his  face,  and  a  deep  sigh  escaped 
him,  as  though  the  memory  of  some  past  event  of  no  pleasant 
nature  had  been  brought  up  in  review  before  him.  Suddenly 
he  said,  as  if  seeking  to  change  the  topic,  and  prevent  any 
question  being  asked, — 

"  You  do  not,  I  suppose,  belong  to  our  mother  church  ?" 

"  No,"  was  the  answer ;  "  I  was  brought  up  in  the  Episcopal 
fold ;  I  am  satisfied  with  its  teachings,  and  hope  to  live  and 
die  in  that  faith." 

"  Well,  we  will  not  discuss  religious  dogmas,  especially  if 
you  want  to  catch  the  six  o'clock  train." 

Mrs.  Verdere  laughed,  and  a  smile  of  such  sweetness  came 
over  her  face  that  Father  Murphy  and  his  sister  were  com- 
pletely captivated.  Her  curiosity  had  been  aroused  by  the 
strange  look  that  came  over  his  face  when  she  mentioned 
the  place  where  she  lived.  In  a  gentle,  insinuating  tone,  as 
they  walked  to  the  station,  she  asked, — 

"  Is  there  any  marvellous  story  attached  to  the  house  in 
which  I  have  my  apartments  ?  My  niece  has  a  peculiar  pen- 
chant for  houses  in  which  great  tragedies  have  been  enacted. 
Ilian  is  a  strange  girl,  and  an  earnest  student  of  psychic  prob- 
lems." 

"  Is  that  your  niece's  name  ?  It  is  quite  classical.  It  sounds 
like  a  derivation  from  the  Iliad  of  Homer.  What  a  wonder- 
ful man  that  poet  was." 

It  was  well  for  the  good  father's  complacency  of  mind  that 
he  did  not  see  the  face  of  his  companion  as  he  mentioned  the 
name  of  Homer.  A  dark  cloud  came  over  it  that  told  of  sup- 
pressed passion. 

"  You  ask  me  about  the  house  where  you  live,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Five  years  ago  a  dreadful  scene  took  place  in  it.  I 
was  well  acquainted  with  one  of  the  families  involved.  I  was 
called  to  hear  the  dying  man's  confession.  He  owned  the 
place,  and  was  living  there  with  his  widowed  mother.  It  is  a 
long  story ;  but  here  we  are  at  the  station,  and  there  is  the 
whistle  of  the  locomotive." 

"  Was  there  a  murder  committed  on  the  premises  ?" 


84  ILIAN. 

^'  Yes;  the  young  man  referred  to  had  deceived  a  girl  of 
good  family  under  promise  of  marriage.  She  heard  that  he 
was  about  to  marry  another.  She  called  at  the  place  and 
waited  for  him  in  their  sitting-room,  which  is  on  the  second 
floor  front.  When  he  came  home  she  made  a  demand  that 
he  should  keep  his  promise  and  marry  her.  This  he  flatly  re- 
fused to  do.  She  then  took  a  revolver  from  the  bosom  of  her 
dress  and  shot  him.     He  died  three  days  after." 

"  That  was  my — I  mean  that  I  am  now  occupying  that 
identical  room.  Good-bye ;  a  thousand  thanks  for  your 
hospitality  and  kindness." 

The  next  moment  the  worthy  priest  was  alone  on  the  plat- 
form, and  the  train  had  passed  out  of  the  station. 

"  There  is  some  design  of  Providence  in  this  meeting,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  walked  back  to  his  home. 


.     .        CHAPTER  V. 

f 

A   VISION    OF    THE    PAST. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day  after  Mrs.  Verdere  left 
Father  Murphy's  house  he  received  a  letter  by  the  early 
morning  post,  written  in  delicate  handwriting,  and  highly  per- 
fumed.    "  Some  lady  fair,  seeking  advice,"  said  his  sister. 

The  following  were  the  contents  : 

BosTOX,  June  2,  1861. 

Rev.  Thomas  Murphy  : 

Reverend  and  dear  Sir, — My  aunt,  Mrs.  Verdere,  to 
whom  you  so  kindly  extended  your  hospitality  five  days  ago, 
is  very  ill.  She  took  cold  from  the  rain-storm  that  overtook 
her  in  your  town.  A  high  fever  has  resulted.  No  serious 
danger  is  anticipated.  She  has  expressed  a  desire  to  see  you, 
if  you  care  to  come  as  a  friend.  You  evidently  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  her  during  the  short  time  she  was  with  you. 
It  is  best  to  state  in  advance  that  my  aunt  is  a  member  of  the 
Episcopal  Church,  and  has  no  intention  of  severing  her  con- 
nection with  it.     She  is  anxious  to  hear  something  more  of 


A'  VISION  OF   THE  PAST.  85 

the  tragedy  connected  with  the  apartments  where  we  are  now 
living.  I  join  with  her  in  sincere  thanks  for  the  hospitality 
extended  to  her.  I  sent  your  sister  a  package  by  express 
yesterday,  containing  the  clothing  loaned  to  my  aunt  and  a 
few  tokens  of  our  esteem. 

With  best  wishes  for  your  welfare,  I  remain,  with  feelings 
of  gratitude,  Ilian  Mordine. 

P.S. — As  you  know  our  house,  it  is  needless  to  give  the 
number. 

"  I  like  the  open  frankness  of  this  note,"  said  Father 
Murphy,  "  and  I  will  go  at  once  and  see  Mrs.  Verdere.  Her 
guardian  angel  may  have  led  her  to  our  home  for  the  purpose 
of  bringing  her  into  our  fold.  I  am  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  express  my  thanks  in  person  for  the  valuable  presents 
which  came  this  morning." 

Shortly  after  the  noon  hour  the  worthy  priest  stood  be- 
fore the  house  he  knew  so  well.  In  answer  to  his  ring,  a 
servant-girl  came  to  the  door.  Taking  his  card  and  reading 
the  name,  she  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot.  There  could 
be  no  mistake  in  the  man.  He  was  a  priest  all  over,  and  the 
girl  perceived  it  at  once.  In  answer  to  his  inquiry  for  Mrs. 
Verdere,  she  replied  that  the  lady  was  very  ill,  and  the 
doctor,  who  had  just  left,  had  given  strict  orders  to  admit  no 
visitors.  "  Besides,"  she  continued,  "  Mrs.  Verdere  is  a 
Protestant,  and " 

"  Take  my  card  at  once  to  Miss  Mordine,  and  say  I  am  here 
in  answer  to  her  letter." 

The  decided  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered  gave 
the  girl  to  understand  that  the  man  before  her  must  be  obeyed. 
She  at  once  opened  the  door,  which  she  had  previously  kept 
half-closed,  and  asked  him  to  wait  in  the  parlor.  His  temper 
was  slightly  ruffled,  and  he  walked  the  floor  to  regain  his  com- 
posure. 

"  These  New  England  country-girls,"  he  said,  half  aloud, 
"  are  brou,i:;ht  up  to  look  upon  a  priest  as  prowling  around 
seeking  to  make  proselytes.  They  perhaps  may  learn  that  our 
religion  is  not  forced  upon  unwilling  recipients  ;  we  offer  it, 
but  do  not  thrust  it  upon  any  one.     A  time  may  come " 

"  Grlad  to  welcome  you,  Father  Murphy." 

The  priest  turned  round  at  this  cordial  salutation,  and  a 
8 


86  ILIAX. 

vision  of  loveliness  burst  upon  his  gaze.  He  had  seen  many 
beautiful  women  in  his  own  State ;  had  looked  upon  fair  faces 
in  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  Vienna,  and  in  sunny  Italy;  but 
never  in  all  his  travels  had  he  seen  the  equal  of  the  radiant 
girl  before  him.  Her  abundant  hair  was  of  a  rich  golden  tint, 
her  eyes  were  deep  blue,  and  had  a  magnetic  power  that 
brought  the  beholder  at  once  under  her  sway.  For  a  moment 
the  priest  wondered  if  he  was  not  dreaming,  and  that  he 
beheld  some  angelic  messenger.  The  silvery  tones  of  her  voice 
seemed  to  confirm  this  as  she  continued, — 

"  I  am  delighted  at  being  able  to  tender  you  my  thanks 
for  your  service  to  my  aunt,  and  for  the  kindness  of  your 
sister  to  her." 

"  Do  not  mention  it,"  he  replied,  feeling,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  embarrassed  before  a  woman. 

"  I  assure  you,"  he  went  on,  "  the  obligation  rests  upon  my 
side.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  be  of  service  in  any  way  to  Mrs. 
Verdere.  I  am  deeply  grieved  to  learn  that  she  took  cold 
from  the  rain,  and  hope  the  indisposition  may  pass  away  in  a 
few  days." 

"  It  is  not  likely  to  prove  serious,"  said  Ilian.  "  It  will 
delay  our  departure  for  Europe  a  week  or  so  ;  if  you  will 
come  to  our  sitting-room,  up-stairs,  I  will  inform  my  aunt 
that  you  have  arrived,  and  I  am  certain  she  will  be  deeply 
gratified  by  this  visit  from  you." 

Ilian  turned  and  led  the  way.  The  priest  followed  her 
into  the  hall  and  up  to  the  second  floor.  At  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room  she  asked  him  to  wait  inside  while  she  went  to 
prepare  her  aunt  for  the  interview.  As  he  entered  the  room 
so  well-remembered  a  vision  of  the  past  flashed  upon  him  with 
a  strange  power.  He  saw  before  him  in  fancy  a  man  of 
about  thirty  years,  handsome  and  well-endowed,  having  all 
the  advantages  of  wealth  and  education.  He  was  listening 
with  a  scornful  smile  to  a  demand  made  by  a  girl  with  a 
pale  but  determined  face,  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion. 
In  low  words,  but  with  a  terrible  meaning,  she  said,  in  a  firm 
voice, — 

"  So  you  positively  refuse  to  fulfil  your  sacred  obligation  to 
make  me  your  wife,  after  having  basely  deceived  me,  and 
now  wish  to  cast  me  aside  like  a  useless  toy?" 

"  What  nonsense,  Bertha,"  he  replied,  "  to  urge  this  mat- 


A    VISION  OF  THE  PAST.  87 

ter  further.  I  gave  you  my  final  answer  last  week,  and  I 
purpose  to  adhere  to  what  I  then  stated.  I  have  agreed  to 
provide  for  you,  but  I  cannot  make  you  my  wife." 

"  Then  you  regard  your  word  of  honor  of  no  value  ?" 

"  It  does  not  count  in  a  case  of  this  kind." 

"  Can  nothing  induce  you  to  change  your  purpose  in  this 
respect?" 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  think  any  argument  that  you  can  bring  forth 
will  do  so.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now,  and  settle  the  matter  for 
good,  that  in  a  week  from  to-day  I  expect  to  marry  Julia." 

"  Then  take  this  as  a  wedding-present  from  Bertha." 

She  took  a  pistol  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  a  loud  report 
was  heard,  the  man  staggered,  and,  putting  his  hand  over  his 
breast,  exclaimed,  "  My  God,  Bertha,  you  have  killed  me !" 
and  then  fell  heavily  to  the  floor. 

"  My  aunt  is  ready  to  receive  you,"  said  Ilian,  who  had 
again  appeared  at  the  door.  "  Are  you  ill,  Father  Murphy  ? 
You  look  dreadfully  pale.    Let  me  offer  you  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  No,  no  ;  a  thousand  thanks.  It  is  only  the  association  of 
this  room  with  the  terrible  deed  committed  here  five  years  ago 
this  month.     It  all  seemed  to  come  back  before  me." 

"  You  must  tell  me  all  about  this  affair  some  time,  I  am 
anxious  to  hear  it.  Was  it  in  this  room  where  the  shooting 
took  place  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  right  where  you  are  standing." 

"  What  day  of  the  month  was  it?" 

"  The  2d  of  June.     This  is  the  fifth  anniversary." 

"  Do  you  believe.  Father  Murphy,  that  the  dead  ever  come 
back  to  rehearse  old  scenes  ?" 

"  That  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer.  We  know  com- 
paratively nothing  of  the  capabilities  of  the  spirit  after  it  leaves 
the  body." 

"  I  merely  ask  the  question  because  you  seem  to  have  just 
had  a  rehearsal  of  the  events  that  took  place  five  years  ago 
to-day.     How  do  you  account  for  it?" 

"The  power  of  memory,  I  suppose.  We  will  talk  it  over 
another  time.     I  will  go  in  and  see  your  aunt  now." 


88  ILIAN. 

CHAPTER    yi. 

REPENTANCE. 

When  Father  Murphy  stood  by  the  bedside  of  Mrs. 
Verdere,  he  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  her  appearance.  The  fever  was  making  sad  havoc 
with  the  beautiful  woman  before  him.  To  his  mind  came 
the  words  of  the  prophet  Isaiah  to  King  Hezekiah, — "  Set 
thine  house  in  order,  for  thou  shalt  die  and  not  live."  He 
felt  the  conviction  that  she  would  never  rise  from  her  bed, 
and  that  the  end  was  near.  Why  he  felt  so,  he  was  unable 
to  tell. 

"  Ilian,"  said  the  sick  woman,  "  I  wish  to  have  a  private 
talk  with  Father  Murphy.     Let  no  one  disturb  us." 

As  the  door  closed  she  turned  to  her  visitor,  sayinir,  "  Can 
you  give  me  any  details  of  the  tragedy  of  this  house  ?" 

"  The  subject  is  very  painful,"  was  the  answer,  "  and  the 
particulars  are  too  long  to  go  over  now." 

He  became  visibly  agitated  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
rehearsal  of  the  terrible  scene  be  had  just  gone  through. 

After  a  moment's  pause  Mrs.  Verdere  asked,  "  Do  you  not 
think  that  the  girl  was  justified  in  the  course  she  took  ?" 

The  priest  crossed  himself  as  he  answered,  in  a  tone  of 
liorror,  "  My  God,  no;  how  can  murder  be  justified?  What 
did  this  girl  gain  for  the  blood  which  she  shed?  She  was 
at  once  arrested,  and,  after  the  death  of  her  victim,  was  placed 
on  trial  for  murder.  The  friends  of  the  murdered  man  spent 
money  lavishly  to  make  her  conviction  of  a  capital  crime 
certain.  She  was  vilified,  and  false  witnesses  were  brought  for- 
ward to  testify  to  her  previous  bad  character.  She  narrowly 
escaped  the  dnith-penalty,  and  was  condemned  to  ten  years 
in  the  State  prison,  and  died  there  two  years  after.  How 
much  better  to  have  left  her  case  with  God, — "  Vengeance  is 
mine,  saith  the  Lord  ;  I  will  repay."     - 

"  Vengeance  is  slow  on  the  Lord's  part,"  replied  Mrs. 
Verdere.  "  Twenty  years  ago  I  called  down  on  the  head  of 
a  man  who  wronged  me  the  solemn  curse  of  Heaven,  and, 


REPENTANCE.  89 

instead  of  being  cursed,  he  has  been  blessed  and  has  prospered. 
Would  that  I  had  taken  my  own  revenge." 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  ancient  oracle, — '  The  mills  of 
the  gods  grind  slow,  but  they  grind  fine.'  How  do  you  know 
that  this  man  of  whom  you  speak  has  not  been  punished  ? 
llemorse  may  have  made  his  life  a  burden  to  him,  and  yet  to 
the  world  he  perhaps  keeps  it  hidden." 

"  I  would  rather  do  my  own  grinding;  and  I  would  take 
care  that  it  was  done  very  fine." 

"  But  this  is  not  Christian  charity." 

"  The  man  deserves  no  charity." 

"  Admit  all  that ;  but  don't  you  think  your  Maker  could  at- 
tend to  this  matter  better  than  you  can  ?  Make  me  a  confidant ; 
tell  me  your  story ;  perhaps  I  can  suggest  some  remedy." 

The  long  pent-up  fires  burst  forth,  and  she  poured  into  the 
ears  of  the  priest  her  sad  history.  She  told  the  tale  of  her 
wrongs,  and  her  weary  waiting  for  the  curse  of  the  old  South 
Church  to  fiill  upon  the  guilty  one.  Father  Murphy  had 
listened  to  so  many  strange  tales  in  his  time  that  he  showed 
no  sign  of  wonder.  When  the  sick  woman  had  finished,  he 
took  her  hand  in  his  and  asked,  "  Are  you  willing  to  risk 
going  into  the  presence  of  your  Maker  with  these  feelings  in 
your  heart  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  her  answer ;  "  but  I  am  not  going  to  die  till 
the  curse  has  been  fulfilled.     I  propose  to  live  and  see  it  all." 

"  But  in  case  your  present  illness  should  terminate  fatally, 
you  would  ask  God  to  forgive  you  your  trespasses  against 
him?" 

"  Certainly  I  would." 

"  But  how  can  you  expect  it,  when  you  harbor  such  thoughts 
of  enmity  against  another  ?" 

"  Mine  is  an  exceptional  case ;  and  when  I  see  the  curse 
accomplished  in  all  its  particulars,  then  I  will  forgive  him, 
and  not  before." 

"  If  this  is  your  determination,  I  can  do  you  no  good  till 
you  are  in  a  different  frame  of  mind.  My  office  as  a  priest 
of  the  church  would  be  of  no  benefit.  I  also  doubt  whether 
any  Protestant  clergyman  can  do  anything  for  you  till  there 
is  a  radical  change  in  your  disposition.  I  must  now  say 
good-by,  and  I  leave  you  in  the  hope  that  when  next  I  see 
you  your  heart  may  be  in  a  softer  mood." 

8* 


90  ILIAN. 

"  It  never  will  be  till  the  tenor  of  my  curse  is  complete." 

"  I  hope  for  better  things,"  was  the  parting  reply. 

The  bell  at  the  bedside  was  rung,  and  Ilian  answered  it  in 
person. 

"  My  dear  Father  Murphy,"  said  she,  "  lunch  is  prepared 
for  you,  and  I  will  esteem  it  as  a  great  favor  if  you  will 
accept  of  our  hospitality." 

Pressing  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Verdere,  and  with  a  silent 
prayer  for  the  help  of  heaven,  he  went  to  the  dining-room. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  had  left  for  home.  In  his  devotions  he 
remembered  the  rebellious  heart  crying  for  vengeance  and 
wondering  why  it  was  so  slow  in  coming.  Two  days  after- 
wards, while  in  his  chapel  in  the  afternoon,  speaking  to  those 
who  came  to  seek  his  counsel,  a  telegram  was  handed  to  him  : 

Boston,  June  4. 
Come  at  once.     My  aunt  is  dying,  and  wishes  to  see  you. 

Ilian. 

It  was  half-past  four,  and  there  was  no  train  that  stopped 
at  his  town  until  half-past  six.  An  express  train,  however, 
passed  through  at  four  forty-five,  which  might  be  stopped  if 
the  case  was  urgent.  He  went  to  his  cottage,  told  his  sister 
of  the  message,  and  went  to  the  depot. 

The  station-master  was  a  New  England  Puritan  of  the  old 
type,  but  the  genial  smile  and  hearty  greeting  of  the  priest 
could  always  win  its  way  to  his  heart.  When  he  was  shown 
the  telegram  he  took  up  a  red  flag  and  waved  it  furiously  in 
front  of  the  train  now  rapidly  approaching.  The  ponderous 
locomotive  slowed  up  and  came  to  a  full  stop.  The  priest 
sprang  upon  the  platform,  and,  waving  his  thanks  to  the  station- 
master,  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

The  State-house  clock  was  tolling  the  hour  of  six  as  Father 
Murphy  again  stood  at  the  door  of  that  fatal  house,  as  he 
termed  it.  Ilian  answered  the  bell  in  person.  A  smile  lit 
up  her  tear-stained  face  as  she  saw  him. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,"  was  her  greeting,  "  The  doctor 
left  a  few  moments  ago,  and  promised  to  return  in  an  hour ; 
he  thinks  my  aunt  will  not  survive  beyond  midnight,  and  I 
am  in  great  anguish  over  the  news.  I  had  not  expected  a 
fatal  termination. 


REPENTANCE.  91 

As  lie  reached  the  sick-chamber,  a  single  pjlance  told  him 
that  the  end  was  not  very  far  off.  The  dying  woman  was 
perfectly  conscious,  and  recognized  him  as  he  took  her  hand. 
He  knew  the  moments  were  precious,  and  no  time  was  to  be 
lost. 

"  Mrs.  Yerdere,"  he  said,  "  before  two  hours  will  have 
passed  you  will  stand  at  the  judgment-bar:  are  you  willing 
with  all  your  heart  to  forgive  Professor  Homerand  the  evil  that 
he  has  done  you,  and  leave  the  judgment  of  the  whole  matter 
with  God  ?" 

The  mention  of  this  name  aroused  all  the  dormant  fire  of 
her  nature ;  her  eyes  flashed  defiance  and  rebellion  ;  for  fully 
five  minutes  not  a  word  was  spoken.  Slowly  the  evil  passions 
subsided ;  a  look  of  calm  resignation  and  a  soft,  sweet  disposi- 
tion spread  over  her  face,  and  she  replied,  "  Father  Murphy, 
you  have  conquered ;  I  yield,  and  I  freely  forgive  Professor 
Homerand,  and  I  hope  to  be  forgiven." 

"  No,  my  child.  It  is  not  I,  but  the  Saviour  who  won  the 
victory  over  the  powers  of  darkness.  In  the  name  of  Christ 
I  bless  you,  and  commend  you  to  His  mercy." 

"  Ilian,  come  to  my  side,"  called  the  dying  woman. 
"  Before  God  and  before  man  I  now  recall  the  obligation  that 
I  made  you  take  a  month  ago.  Consider  it  null  and  void. 
It  was  wrong  on  my  part  to  ask  you  to  bind  yourself  to  any 
such  malediction  ;  you  are  therefore  free  from  it.  I  have  left 
you  all  my  property,  and  you  will  be  the  sole  heiress  of  a  vast 
fortune.  I  now  commend  you  to  the  care  of  God.  You 
will  find  all  the  information  you  want  about  your  father  in 
the  tin  box  containing  my  papers.  I  am  getting  very  weak, 
and  feel  faint." 

At  this  point  her  breath  became  feeble  and  her  words  dis- 
connected. 

"  Ilian,"  she  continued,  "  open  the  tin  box — velvet  lining 
— full  record — the  oath — is  void.  If  you  wish  the  last  bless- 
ing of  your  dying " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  There  was  a  gurgling 
sound  in  her  throat.  Death  had  come  sooner  than  was 
expected.  The  spirit  of  the  former  Helen  Claymuire  left  its 
earthly  tabernacle  and  went  to  the  bar  of  final  reckoning. 

Two  days  alter,  all  that  was  mortal  was  laid  away  to  rest  in 
one  of  Boston's  great  cemeteries.     The  burial  service  was 


92  I  LI  AN. 

read  by  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  and  only  a  few  friends  were 
invited.  Some  relatives  from  New  York  came  on,  among 
them  a  Mrs.  Rendeem,  who  was  her  cousin,  and  with  whom 
Ilian  returned  after  all  was  over. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   WAR    FEVER. 


The  month  of  July,  1861,  was  an  inauspicious  one  in  this 
memorable  year.  The  battle  of  Bull  Run  had  been  fought, 
and  the  Northern  forces  had  retired  from  the  field.  The 
prevalent  idea  which  seemed  to  exist  throughout  the  States 
north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line  was  that  war  meant  the  kill- 
ing of  enemies  in  battle.  When  General  Sherman's  interpre- 
tation was  made  known,  that  war  was  not  only  killing,  but 
being  killed  in  return,  then  a  large  number  who  objected  to 
the  latter  feature  of  it  retired  from  the  contest. 

Many  had  loudly  urged  that  it  would  be  far  better  to  let 
the  seceding  States  go  out  of  the  Union  than  to  shed  the 
blood  required  to  preserve  the  compact.  But  all  hopes  of 
peace  were  finally  swept  away,  when  the  news  of  the  defeat 
of  the  Union  troops  occurred  on  the  field  of  Bull  Run  in 
July.  The  Southern  leaders,  flushed  with  victory,  increased 
their  demands.  But  two  courses  were  now  open  to  the  North. 
One  was  a  dishonorable  peace  and  the  dismemberment  of  the 
union  of  States ;  the  alternative,  a  bloody  civil  war,  lasting 
for  years.  Abraham  Lincoln  was  the  first  President  in  the 
history  of  the  Republic  who  was  inaugurated  under  the  au- 
spices of  fixed  bayonets  and  artillery,  with  troops  drawn  up  in 
line  of  battle.  There  was  now  no  choice  but  to  accept  the 
challenge  of  the  South,  and  leave  to  the  arbitrament  of  the 
.^word  what  statecraft  had  failed  to  decide.  The  call  for  three- 
months'  volunteers  was  due  to  the  fears  of  those  who  desired 
peare  at  any  price.  It  was  now  found  to  be  a  mistake ;  a 
proclamation  was  sent  out  calling  for  a  first  instalment  of  three 
hundred  thousand  men,  to  defend  the  Union  standard  by  sea 
and  laud.     It  was  carried  on  the  electric  wire  through  every 


THE    WAR  FEVER.  93 

city,  town,  hamlet,  and  village  along  the  snores  of  our  great 
lakes  and  beyond  the  Mississippi,  across  the  broad  prairies  of 
the  distant  West.  The  fiery  message  spread  through  all 
ranks.  The  people  accepted  the  gauntlet  of  defiance  thrown 
to  them  by  the  South. 

Not  only  the  native-born  but  the  naturalized  citizen  came 
forward  to  defend  the  flag  that  gave  them  protection.  The 
war  fever  spread  even  across  the  border,  and  thousands  of 
Canadians  entered  the  service  of  the  Union.  The  ploughman 
left  his  furrow,  the  smith  dropped  his  hammer  on  the  anvil, 
young  men  forsook  their  desks  and  counters,  their  shops  and 
factories,  their  offices,  homes,  and  firesides,  and  hurried  to  the 
rendezvous.  Clergymen  left  their  pulpits,  judges  their 
benches,  lawyers  their  clients,  physicians  their  practice,  mer- 
chants their  traffic,  and  students  came  from  schools,  universi- 
ties, and  academies.  From  every  profession  and  trade,  from 
every  calling  and  rank  in  life,  came  the  tens  of  thousands  who 
withstood  the  ordeal  of  battle  on  many  a  hard-fought  field. 
Many  of  the  leading  officers  in  the  army  and  navy  resigned 
their  commission  and  went  South ;  but  their  places  were 
quickly  filled.  The  North  was  thoroughly  arou:sed,  and  ful- 
filled the  prophetic  poem  of  Mrs.  H.  W.  Booth,  written  in 
Europe  twenty  years  previous,  of  which  the  following  is  an 
extract : 

"  The  Xortli  in  her  might,  like  a  whirlwind  shall  rise; 
And  the  notes  of  the  cannon  be  borne  to  the  skies  ; 
And  though  the  warm  blood  of  her  heroes  be  shed, 
The  light  of  her  freedom  shall  never  be  dead  ; 
The  stars  and  the  stripes  in  Excelsior  shall  bo 
Proud  Liberty's  banner  from  land  and  by  sea ; 
And  the  Union,  though  spurned  by  th§  slave-holders' scorn, 
Shall  be  guarded  by  Northmen  for  ages  unborn." 

The  commencement  exercises  in  all  the  Northern  univer- 
sities were  held  amid  great  excitement.  Wherever  there 
were  Southern  students,  they  left,  and  the  war  fever  seized 
those  who  remained  and  were  able  to  volunteer.  Adrien 
Homerand,  in  deference  to  his  father's  urgent  solicitation,  had 
refrained  from  offering  his  services  till  after  his  graduation. 
But  the  very  next  day  he  left  for  Washington,  and  through 
the  influence  of  Senator  ^umner,  his  father's  friend,  he  was 
introduced  to  the  ^^ecretary  of  the  Navy.  He  brought  with 
him  a  certificate  from  the  Board  of  Trade  of  Boston,  testify- 


94  ILIAN. 

ing  to  his  superior  seamanship,  both  practical  and  theoretical, 
and  also  his  skill  as  a  navigator.  An  appointment  as  an  acting 
master  was  given  to  him,  with  orders  to  report  at  once  for  duty 

on  board  of  the  United  States  steamer ,  then  fitting  out 

at  the  Brooklyn  Navy- Yard.  Tiie  fame  of  the  father  reflected 
its  lustre  upon  his  son,  and  the  memory  of  his  grandfather, 
Judge  Rathmine,  was  still  held  in  kindly  remembrance  by 
many  old_  friends  in  New  York.  The  best  society  was  thus 
opened  to  him.  He  was  flooded  with  invitations  to  balls  and 
receptions.  He  devoted  all  his  time,  however,  to  become 
thoroughly  proficient  and  acquainted  with  the  duties  of  his 
place.  The  art  of  naval  warfare  was  new  to  him,  but  his 
active  mind  quickly  mastered  the  details  of  the  management 
of  a  ship-of-war,  and  the  division  to  which  he  was  assigned 
command  on  this  vessel  soon  far  excelled  all  the  others  in 
rapid  movement  and  efficiency.  His  commanding  officer,  in 
the  report  to  the  Navy  Department  on  the  condition  of  his 
ship  prior  to  sailing  under  sealed  orders,  stated  that  Acting 
Master  Adrien  Homerand  was  the  most  perfect  example  of  a 
naval  officer  that  he  had  ever  sailed  with.  This  encomium 
from  the  stern  old  martinet  could  only  have  been  won  by 
very  rare  qualities  in  any  officer  on  his  ship. 

Adrien's  voice  was  deep  and  iar-reaching,  and  could  be 
heard  in  the  remotest  part  of  the  vessel.  The  topmen  aloft 
on  the  royal  yards,  and  the  men  in  the  fire-room,  and  in  the 
inmost  recesses  of  the  shaft-alley,  heard  his  trumpet-tones 
distinctly.  His  words  of  command  were  always  given  in  a 
concise,  seaman-like  manner  that  carried  no  doubtful  meaning 
to  the  ears  of  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  and  made 
them  vividly  conscious  that  the  sooner  the  orders  were  obeyed 
the  better  for  them.  He  never  used  profane  or  vulgar  adjec- 
tives in  the  performance  of  his  duties,  nor,  in  fact,  at  any 
time;  never,  under  the  greatest  provocation,  would  he  curse 
the  men  on  deck.  Those  who  have  served  as  watch-officers 
on  ships  of  war  know  by  experience  that  occasions  often  arise 
when  it  requires  an  efi'ort  almost  superhuman  to  keep  one's 
temper.  In  the  ward-room  men  are  often  associated  with  such 
diverse  temperaments,  and  with  conditions  of  living  in  all  its 
phases  so  different  from  life  on  shore,  that,  unless  great  for- 
bearance is  exercised  by  all,  a  condition  will  ensue,  termed,  in 
signifiant  nautical  parlance,  "  a  floating  hell." 


THE    UNION  NAVr.  95 

This  would  have  been  the  case  with  his  ship,  but  for  the 
tact  of  Adrien.  He  exercised  the  same  influence  over  his 
messmates  that  he  had  previously  done  at  college,  and  before 
the  vessel  left  New  York  harbor  he  had  become  the  umpire  in 
all  matters  of  dispute,  and  his  decision  was  considered  final. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  have  no  knowledge  of  life  on  a 
man-of-war,  I  will  enumerate  the  divisions  or  messes  into 
which  the  hands  are  divided.  Among  the  crew,  twelve  men, 
as  a  rule,  form  a  mess.  Then  there  are  several  petty  ofl&cers' 
messes.  The  boatswain,  gunner,  carpenter,  and  sail-maker,  who 
are  warranted  officers,  constitute  the  "  forward  officers'  mess." 
The  junior  commissioned  officers  comprise  the  "  steerage  mess." 
In  the  wardroom  of  the  senior  officers  are  small  state-rooms, 
about  seven  feet  square,  opening  into  the  larger  space  ;  in 
these  boxes,  as  they  have  been  termed,  they  must  sleep  in  a 
berth  twenty-seven  inches  wide,  and  in  drawers  beneath  it 
they  keep  all  their  clothes,  consisting  of  four  styles  of  uniform, 
hot-  and  cold-weather  clothes  sufficient  to  last  for  a  three 
years'  cruise,  often  without  an  opportunity  to  have  them 
washed.  In  this  box  each  officer  has  a  bureau,  washstand, 
and  chair.  It  is  astonishing  how  much  material  can  be 
crowded  into  a  space  of  the  above  dimensions.  There  is  also 
a  captain's  mess,  and  the  admiral's,  when  the  vessel  is  a  flag- 
ship. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    UNION    NAVY. 


At  the  outbreak  of  the  Rebellion  the  Federal  naval  authori- 
ties found  themselves  with  only  a  few  available  ships.  Part  of 
these  were  old  sailing-craft.  They  had  no  full-powered  screw- 
ships.  What  they  had  were  auxiliary  steam  power.  Orders 
were  given  at  once  to  purchase  all  merchant  vessels  suitable 
for  blockade  and  fighting.  Contracts  were  made  for  a  large 
number  of  steamers  of  all  kinds  for  the  branch  of  service  in- 
tended,— deep-sea  cruising,  river,  and  inland  waters.  The 
regular  navy  formed  but  a  nucleus,  and  acting  appointments 
were  aiven  to  officers  of  the  merchant  marine. 


96  ILIAN. 

The  ship  to  which  Adrien  was  attached  was  one  of  the 
best-equipped  vessels  of  the  naval  service ;  in  fact,  she  was 
considered  one  of  the  best  of  her  kind  afloat.  A  week  before 
the  appointed  time  of  departure,  while  the  ship  was  at  anchor 
oflF  the  battery,  on  a  clear,  bright  day,  just  as  Adrien  was 
relieved  as  officer  of  the  forenoon  watch,  one  of  his  old  class- 
mates came  over  the  side,  and,  grasping  his  hand,  said,  "  I 
want  you,  old  fellow,  to  do  me  a  particular  favor." 

"  Certainly,  I  am  at  the  disposal  of  one  whose  cordial 
friendship  in  our  school-days  will  always  be  a  source  of  pleasant 
recollection." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  for  this  dompliment.  I  am  the  bearer 
of  a  peremptory  mandate  from  my  sisters  and  my  cousins, 
that  you,  Adrien  Homerand,  report  yourself  in  uniform  to- 
morrow evening,  for  dinner  at  six  o'clock.  After  which  you 
must  answer  to  the  charges,  preferred  by  a  dozen  or  more 
young  ladies,  that  you  have  on  sundry  occasions  slighted  their 
invitations,  and  absented  yourself  without  leave  from  so  many 
receptions  where  you  were  expected.  You  are  also  directed 
and  invited  to  bring  with  you  as  many  of  your  messmates  as 
can  be  spared  from  duty." 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,"  replied  Adrien,  "  I  am  glad  I 
can  bring  reinforcements.  I  suppose  the  plea  of  duty  before 
pleasure  will  not  be  accepted  ?" 

"  Hardly,  with  young  ladies.  We  expect  also  to  have  with 
us,  for  the  reception,  a  Southern  girl  of  a  style  of  beauty  so 
rare  that  she  might  have  come  direct  from  Houriland.  All 
the  young  men  say  that  she  is  more  angel  than  human." 

"  Who  is  this  divinity  that  possesses  such  wonderful 
charm  ?" 

"  She  is  a  second  cousin  of  my  mother,  but  I  am  forbidden 
by  my  sisters  to  tell  you  her  name ;  they  want  to  surprise 

you." 

Adrien  introduced  his  friend  to  his  brother  officers  of  the 
wardroom  as  Mr.  John  Rendeem,  a  classmate  of  his.  He 
was  invited  to  stay  for  lunch,  and  consented.  Five  of  Adrien's 
messmates  accepted  the  invitation  for  the  following  day,  and 
made  the  incautious  promise  to  defend  him  from  the  charge 
of  preferring  the  stern  routine  of  a  ship-of-war  to  the  fascina- 
tion of  young  ladies'  society.  Mr.  llendeem  laughed  as  he 
told  them  that  they  would  find  it  a  difficult  undertaking. 


THE   UNION  NAVF.  97 

"  I  would  like  to  assist  you,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  am  pledged 
to  be  neutral." 

After  lunch  their  guest  was  shown  all  over  the  ship.  He 
expressed  his  astonishment  at  her  ponderous  battery,  and  felt 
confident  she  would  make  a  grand  record.  When  he  left  the 
vessel  he  extended  a  cordial  invitation  for  all  of  the  officers 
to  pay  a  visit  to  his  father's  house  when  convenient. 

On  the  following  evening,  at  the  hour  appointed,  six 
officers,  clad  in  the  brilliant  uniform  of  the  Union  navy, 
ascended  the  steps  of  the  marble  mansion  of  Mr.  Joseph 
Rendeem,  the  merchant  prince,  on  Fifth  Avenue.  As  they 
were  ushered  into  the  drawing-room  they  found  a  large  com- 
pany assembled,  over  half  of  them  young  ladies,  daughters  of 
the  best  New  York  families.  Brass  buttons  and  gold  lace 
are  at  all  times  magnets  which  attract  the  admiration  of  the 
fair  sex,  and  more  so  when  to  them  are  added  charm  of  youth 
and  single-blessedness.  The  eyes  of  the  naval  officers  swept 
rapidly  around  the  room  in  search  of  the  star  of  first  magni- 
tude from  the  South,  of  which  young  Rendeem  had  spoken. 
All  the  ladies  present  were  beautiful,  yet  none  outshone  the 
others.  Adrien  in  particular  seemed  to  seek  for  her.  His 
young  host  noticed  his  eager  gaze  and  surmised  the  object. 
Coming  to  him,  he  told  him  that  the  fair  Ilian  would  not 
arrive  before  nine  o'clock. 

"  Ilian  !"  remarked  Adrien.  "  Can  this  be  the  Miss  Mor- 
dine  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much  ?" 

"  I  think  she  is,  for  she  came  from  Boston  two  months  ago 
with  my  mother.  A  Mrs.  Verdere,  a  Southern  lady  of  great 
wealth,  was  her  aunt,  and  Miss  Mordine  inherited  all  her 
vast  fortune.  She  stayed  at  our  house  for  three  weeks,  and 
then  went  for  a  short  visit  to  Mrs.  Hortense,  the  mother  of 
the  manager  of  her  property  in  New  Orleans,  at  present  re- 
siding in  this  city." 

"  Well,  I  am  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  this  won- 
derful beauty.     Why  did  she  not  come  for  dinner?" 

"  She  is  in  deep  mourning,  and  only  consented  to  come  for 
an  hour  when  she  heard  that  you  were  to  be  of  the  com- 
pany. Because  of  the  difficulty  experienced  in  getting  you 
away  from  your  ship,  she  made  it  a  condition  that  she  must 
first  hear  that  you  were  actually  here.  A  messenger  has 
already  been  sent  to  inform  her  of  your  arrival." 
^9  9 


98  ILIAN, 

"  That  is  strange ;  for  I  have  never  met  Miss  Mordine, 
although  I  have  heard  wonderful  stories  of  her  intellectual 
power." 

"  No  description  of  her  can  do  her  justice;  she  is  one  of 
those  rare  girls  who  must  be  seen  to  be  appreciated.  In  the 
three  weeks  that  she  was  at  our  house  1  tried  to  study  her, 
but  found  something  new  each  day." 

"  I  am  anxious  to  know  something  of  her  history.  You 
mention  that  she  is  a  relative  of  your  mother;  where  was  she 
born?" 

"  She  was  born  in  England,  and  it  is  stated  that  her  mother 
died  in  childbirth,  and  her  aunt,  who  was  her  mother's  only 
sister,  brought  her  up.  They  have  lived  mostly  abroad. 
Now,  my  gallant  hero  in  blue  and  gold,  you  already  exert 
more  influence  over  her  than  any  other  young  man,  for  she 
was  always  talking  about  you." 

"  But  we  never  met." 

"  She  saw  you  on  three  occasions  in  Boston,  although  you 
knew  it  not.  As  your  old  classmate,  I  have  been  doing  ample 
justice  to  your  character,  and  now  she  knows  you  as  well  as 
I  do." 

"  Many  thanks  for  all  this,  but  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall  not 
come  up  to  the  high  standard  you  have  measured  for  me." 

"  Do  not  worry  on  that  point.  Do  you  know,  I  think  you 
both  are  splendidly  mated  ?  I  will  stand  aside  for  you  ;  but 
for  no  other  living  mortal  would  I  give  up  my  chance  to  win 
her." 

"  John,  do  not  do  that ;  I  am  not  a  marrying  man  ;  I  am 
wedded  to  my  new  profession." 

"  Wait  until  you  see  and  hear  her,  and  then  good-by  to 
all  benedict  notions.     I  speak  from  experience." 

"  Who  will  escort  her  here  this  evening  ?" 

"  One  of  the  managers  of  her  estate,  a  Colonel  Robert  Hor- 
tense,  a  fire-eater  of  the  first  class,  a  red-hot  secessionist. 
Where  he  got  his  title  of  colonel,  no  one  knows.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  bark  about  him,  but  not  much  bite,  I  fancy. 
He  is  always  talking  about  what  he  is  going  to  do  when  he 
gets  back  South.  I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  him.  He 
assumes  the  air  of  a  guardian  to  Miss  Mordine,  and  tries  to 
dictate  whom  she  must  see  and  whom  to  avoid." 

"  Perhaps  he  stands  in  your  way  as  a  rival,"  said  Adrien. 


MEETING   OF  THE    WATERS.  99 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  do  not  rate  him  so  highly  as  that." 

At  this  point  they  were  interrupted  by  several  young 
ladies,  and  one  of  them  said, — 

"  Look  here,  cousin  John,  we  object  to  councils  of  war 
being  held  without  participation  by  ladies,  and  we  especially 
protest  against  your  monopoly  of  Mr.  Homerand.  He  must 
answer  the  complaint  of  neglect  of  our  society,  and  we  are 
now  going  to  take  charge  of  him." 

At  this  point  dinner  was  announced.  Adrien  was  mated 
to  Miss  Alice  Rendeem,  and  the  other  officers  were  given 
charming  convoys. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

MEETING   OF   THE   WATERS. 

The  Mississippi  River  at  one  point  is  divided  by  a  long 
island.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  island  the  river  is  com- 
pelled to  separate ;  its  reluctance  to  do  so  is  shown  by  its 
turbulent  motion,  as  though  protesting  a  division  of  its  power. 
At  the  lower  end,  however,  the  meeting  of  the  waters  takes 
place  silently,  without  noise  or  demonstration.  Its  united 
force  forms  a  compact  body  that  carries  along  every  object 
that  comes  into  contact  with  its  current.  This  is  the  analogy 
of  the  meeting  of  Adrien  and  Ilian,  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Jo- 
seph Rendeem,  on  the  eventful  evening  now  to  be  described. 

She  had  consented  to  come  to  the  reception  given  by  her 
cousin,  Mrs.  Rendeem,  conditional  on  the  attendance  of  Mr. 
Homerand.  Her  excuse  for  this  was  that  she  was  anxious  to 
meet  him.  His  father  had  formerly  been  distinguished,  and 
the  son  was  also  celebrated.  At  this  time  Ilian  was  in  sus- 
pense as  to  whether  her  oath  was  binding,  or,  as  her  aunt  had 
expressed  it  on  her  dying  bed,  was  null  and  void.  That  there 
was  some  mystery  deep  and  far-reaching  between  her  aunt 
and  Professor  Homerand  she  was  well  aware,  but  the  secret 
had  not  transpired.  Perhaps  Adrien  might  possess  some  clue. 
Accordingly,  although  it  was  hardly  within  the  bounds  of 
fashionable  propriety  to  go  into  society  so  soon  after  her 
aunt's  death,  when  she  learned  that  he  had  accepted  the  invi- 


100  ILIAN. 

tation  to  be  present  at  her  cousin's  house,  she  resolved  to  go 
there.  She  made  her  preparations  carefully.  The  evening 
was  cool  for  the  time  of  year,  so  she  arrayed  herself  in  a  black 
velvet  dress  fastened  high  to  the  throat.  A  pearl  necklace 
encircled  her  dainty  throat ;  solitaire  diamond  ear-rings  and  a 
diamond  coronet  in  her  hair  were  all  her  ornaments.  Eight 
o'clock  found  her  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  house 
where  she  was  staying,  waiting  for  the  clock  to  point  to  a 
quarter  of  nine.  Colonel  Ilortense  was  the  only  occupant  of 
the  room  wiih  her.  He  was  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece 
in  a  very  unenviable  state  of  mind.  As  he  is  connected  with 
our  story,  a  brief  description  of  him  may  be  proper. 

Robert  Hortense  was  born  in  Columbia,  South  Carolina. 
His  father  was  one  of  that  large  class  of  persons  who  insist 
that  the  world  owes  them  a  living,  and  who,  therefore,  take 
life  as  easy  as  possible.  He  had  inherited  a  small  fortune, 
and  he  eked  it  out  by  genteel  gambling.  For  a  gentleman  of 
his  grade,  a  business  or  a  profession  was  out  of  the  question. 
He  died  when  his  son  was  fifteen,  and  his  widow,  by  judicious 
management,  educated  her  boy  as  a  soldier  of  fortune,  to  be 
on  the  alert  for  a  favorable  opportunity  for  a  rich  marriage  or 
gome  lucky  master  stroke.  She  was  a  firm  believer  in  the 
aphorism  that  all  things  will  come  to  him  who  can  but  wait. 
Her  faith  was  at  length  rewarded.  In  his  twenty-fourth  year 
the  manager  of  Mrs.  Verdere's  estate  in  South  Carolina  died, 
and  she  procured  the  position  for  Robert.  This  was  in  1860. 
The  situation  was  a  lucrative  one.  Her  success  encouraged 
the  mother  to  hope  that  a  marriage  might  be  brought  about 
between  her  son  and  Ilian,  the  niece  and  heiress  of  the 
richest  woman  in  the  South.  Robert  Hortense  was  slightly 
built,  with  light  hair  and  a  ferocious  moustache  of  the  same 
color.  He  had  prepared  himself  for  all  incidental  occurrences 
by  becoming  an  accomplished  swordsman  and  an  unerring 
marksman.  This  stood  him  in  hand,  for  he  had  already 
figured  in  five  duels.  In  the  first  two  he  had  wounded  his 
adversary  each  time,  coming  out  of  the  ordeal  untouched.  In 
the  third  he  appeared  upon  the  field  with  a  bright  and  cheer- 
ful smile,  and  asked  that,  as  he  was  a  little  out  of  practice,  he 
should  be  granted  the  privilege  of  firing  one  shot  at  a  target, 
just  to  get  used  to  the  smell  of  gunpowder.  His  antagonist 
was,   of  course,  to   do    the   same.      His   second   thereupon 


MEETING   OF  THE    WATERS.  101 

fastened  the  ace  of  hearts  to  a  tree  and,  handing  his  principal 
a  loaded  pistol,  counted  off  twenty  paces,  and  young  Ilortense, 
firing  at  the  word  "  three,"  sent  the  bullet  through  the  centre 
of  the  card.  As  he  had  long  practised  this  feat,  it  was  no 
difficult  performance.  He  then  took  the  ace  of  diamonds 
from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  the  other  second,  for  the 
benefit  of  his  principal.  The  exhibition  of  such  accurate 
shooting  and  the  significant  obliteration  of  the  heart  on  the 
card  was  too  much  for  the  nerves  of  his  antagonist,  and  he 
promptly  apologized.  The  same  result  followed  in  the  fourth 
challenge.  It  was  about  this  time  that  Hortense  assumed 
the  title  of  colonel,  on  the  ground  that  a  man  who  has  been 
four  times  on  the  field  of  honor  was  entitled  to  such  distinc- 
tion. In  the  fifth  challenge  this  by-play  did  not  work,  for 
his  antagonist  did  exactly  the  same  thing,  and,  furthermore, 
told  him  that  he  could  cut  his  name  on  a  target  with  pistol- 
shots  without  any  difficulty.  This  information  was  not  at  all 
assuring  to  the  colonel.  The  agreement  was  to  fire  at  the 
word  "  three."  Hortense  had  in  the  two  first  encounters  fired 
at  the  word  "two."  His  nerves  were  not  as  steady  now  as 
they  had  been  when  facing  men  who  were  not  as  skilful  as 
himself  He  began  to  consider  whether  it  would  not  be  as 
well  to  apologize  instead  of  running  the  risk  of  suffering  day- 
light to  be  sent  through  his  thin  body.  Matters  were 
hastened  before  he  could  decide,  and  at  the  word  "  one  "  a 
bullet  grazed  his  temple,  and  his  own  went  twenty  feet  wide 
of  the  mark.  His  opponent  expressed  regret  at  his  own  bad 
marksmanship,  and  insisted  upon  another  shot,  to  redeem  his 
credit.  The  colonel,  however,  was  perfectly  satisfied,  and 
after  some  discussion  the  principals  shook  hands.  Hortense 
was  not  so  ferocious  nor  anxious  afterwards  to  fight  more 
duels.     Thus  we  present  him  to  our  readers. 

As  already  stated,  Mrs.  Hortense  had  persuaded  llian  to 
reside  with  her  for  a  short  period.  She  was  living  in  a  hand- 
somely-furnished house,  as  llian,  on  her  aunt's  death,  had 
generously  doubled  the  colonel's  salary.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that,  when  Mrs.  Hortense  received  llian  under  her  roof,  she 
urged  her  son  to  make  good  use  of  his  time,  and  win,  if  pos- 
sible, the  young  heiress's  hand  and  fortune.  On  this  very 
evening  of  the  Rendeem  party  he  had  endeavored  to  persuade 
her  to  stay  away  from  the  reception.     Finding  that  she  would 

9* 


102  ILIAN. 

not,  he  had  boldly  proposed  an  offer  of  marriage.  He  antici- 
pated no  diflficulty.  The  girl  was  young  and  inexperienced, 
and  how  much  it  would  tend  to  relieve  her  mind  from  the 
burden  of  her  grief  to  engage  herself  to  a  handsome  young 
man  of  good  business  habits,  and  one  who  was  acquainted 
with  all  the  details  of  her  property.  He  would  take  all  re- 
sponsibilty  off  her  shoulders  about  her  large  estate.  Then, 
again,  his  mother  would  take  the  place  of  her  aunt,  and  in- 
struct her  in  all  the  duties  of  a  wife.  He  proposed,  but  was 
refused  in  such  a  quiet  way  that  he  could  find  no  pretext  to 
take  offence.  Ilian  pleaded  that  it  was  out  of  the  question 
to  think  of  marrying  so  soon  after  her  aunt  had  been  laid 
in  the  grave.  As  she  spoke  of  that  dear  one  who  had  filled 
a  mother's  place  to  her,  tears  filled  her  eyes.  The  colonel  was 
afraid  that  if  he  pleaded  any  further  at  present  he  might 
injure  his  case,  so  he  turned  the  conversation  to  a  subject  in 
which  they  both  felt  a  strong  interest, — the  war. 

They  were  deep  in  this  discourse  when  the  carriage  was  an- 
nounced. They  then  left  the  house  for  the  Rendeem  party. 
While  both  the  colonel  and  Miss  Mordiue  were  in  full  sympa- 
thy with  the  Southern  cause,  they  were  too  refined  to  show 
partisan  feeling  in  a  company  composed  mostly  of  Northern 
people.  When  they  were  ushered  into  the  drawing-room  all 
eyes  were  riveted  upon  Ilian.  The  gentlemen  hastened  for- 
ward to  be  introduced,  all  except  Adrien,  who,  with  one  elbow 
resting  upon  the  mantel-piece,  was  engaged  in  conversation  with 
Miss  Alice  Rendeem,  the  subject,  of  course,  being  the  Southern 
belle,  as  the  ladies  termed  her. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her,  Adrien  ?"  asked  his  fair  com- 
panion. She  was  thus  familiar  with  him,  for  they  had  known 
each  other  for  several  years. 

For  a  moment  he  closely  scanned  Ilian  as  she  was  replying 
to  the  many  flattering  words  from  those  who  were  being  intro- 
duced ;  then,  slowly  answering  the  question,  he  said,  "  Fasci- 
nating and  beautiful ;  a  perfect  model  of  nature's  handiwork ; 
she  is,  without  exception,  the  handsomest  woman  of  her  style 
that  I  have  ever  seen  ;  but,  after  all,  I  prefer  brunettes;"  and, 
looking  into  Miss  Rendeem's  face  with  a  smile,  he  added, 
"especially  when  they  are  from  the  North." 

Alice  Rendeem  was  a  brunette  of  the  purest  type,  while  her 
sister  Edith  was  a  blonde.  There  could  be  no  mistaking  this 
direct  compliment. 


CHAMPION  FOR    THE  SOUTH.  103 

Adrien  continued :  ''  Miss  Mordine  has  dangerous  eyes  ; 
they  magnetize,  and  will  yet  bring  sorrow  and  trouble  to  more 
than  one  man's  heart." 

This  answer  was  prophetic,  and  was  also  well  timed,  for  he 
at  once  made  a  firm  friend  of  Alice,  and  soothed  the  jealousy 
that  a  handsome  woman  feels  when  a  star  of  superior  magni- 
tude comes  into  her  sphere. 

Mrs.  Rendeem  now  came  up  and  insisted  upon  introducing 
Adrien.  Slowly  he  approached  llian.  As  his  hand  touched 
hers,  a  cold  chill  ran  through  his  frame  and  a  foreboding  of 
evil  oppressed  him. 

Thus  the  waters  met.  They  had  not  yet  joined  all  their 
forces,  but  the  current  would  only  be  again  separated  by  death. 
The  meshes  of  Adrien's  fate  had  been  woven  by  others. 


.    CHAPTER   X. 

CHAMPION   FOR   THE   SOUTH. 

Never  in  the  previous  life  of  llian  had  her  beauty  shone 
out  with  such  dazzlins  splendor  as  after  her  introduction  to 
Adrien  Horaerand.  Whatever  conscientious  scruples  she  may 
have  had  in  reference  to  her  oath  of  hatred  to  the  Homerand 
family,  there  was  no  desire  on  her  part,  on  this  eventful  even- 
ing, to  begin  her  work  by  hating  the  son.  To  say  that  he  was 
completely  carried  away  would  be  a  mild  expression.  What 
the  feeling  was  that  filled  his  heart  he  did  not  take  time  to 
analyze.  He  was  conscious  that  a  new  power  had  either  come 
into  activity  within  him  or  taken  possession  of  him  from  with- 
out. Whether  it  was  love  or  infiatuation  he  cared  not ;  suffi- 
cient was  it  that  at  his  side  stood  a  lovely,  radiant  girl,  with  a 
rare  gift  of  language  and  a  pair  of  eyes  in  whose  depths  of 
azure  shone  an  intellect  not  often  found  in  feminine  mould. 
Those  eyes  beamed  on  him  with  such  intensity,  that,  with  all 
his  noted  presence  of  mind,  he  was  so  overcome  that  he  could 
hardly  answer  the  questions  put  to  him  by  a  bevy  of  girls  who 
now  surrounded  him.     They  asked  him  if   he  would  plead 


104  ILIAN. 

guilty  to  the  charge  of  having,  on  a  number  of  occasions,  de- 
clined pressing  invitations  to  sociables,  and  also  to  special  par- 
ties made  up  for  his  benefit,  but  at  which  he  failed  to  appear. 
At  any  former  time  he  would  have  felt  equal  to  the  almost 
herculean  task  of  holding  his  own  against  a  dozen  girls,  but 
now  his  intrenchments  had  all  been  carried  by  a  single  glance 
of  the  magnetic  eyes  of  a  being  whom  he  then  felt  was  more 
akin  to  an  angel  than  our  common  humanity.  Adrien  turned 
to  Ilian  with  a  look  which  was  at  once  interpreted  as  a  desire 
that  she  should  answer  for  him.  Indeed,  she  had  such  a 
power  over  other  women  that  there  was  no  feeling  of  jealousy 
or  envy  exhibited  towards  her.  On  the  contrary,  they  felt 
proud  of  belonging  to  a  sex  that  could  produce  such  a  marvel 
of  beauty,  both  mental  and  physical.  She  therefore  quietly 
answered  for  Adrien,  and  said,  "  Any  man  who  can,  in  days 
like  the  present,  set  an  example  of  strict  adherence  to  the  du- 
ties of  his  position  in  preference  to  wasting  his  time,  which 
belongs  to  the  government  that  employs  him,  is  a  man  that 
every  true  woman  would  be  proud  to  call  a  friend." 

The  sweet  smile,  childlike  in  its  expression,  that  accom- 
panied these  words  had  such  an  effect,  that  a  number  of 
young  ladies  at  once  promptly  came  forward  to  take  his  hand. 
One  of  them,  however,  echoed  the  sentiments  of  the  others 
as  she  said,  "  Of  course,  this  only  applies  to  naval  officers,  and 
not  to  young  men  in  general ;  for,  if  it  did,  what  would  the 
young  ladies  do  for  society?" 

This  created  great  merriment,  and  expressions  of  "  Cer- 
tainly," "  Why,  of  course,"  were  heard  on  every  side,  the 
young  men  being  as  enthusiastic  on  this  point  as  the  girls. 
In  fact,  they  were  more  so,  as  they  were  somewhat  jealous  of 
the  influence  of  brass  buttons  and  gold  lace. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  the  party  broke  up. 
Adrien  accompanied  Ilian  to  the  door  of  her  residence,  much 
to  the  disgust  of  Colonel  Hortense,  who  sat  in  the  car- 
riage, listening  with  jealous  ears  to  the  conversation  of  the 
couple  before  him.  The  impulse  of  a  deadly  hatred  sprang 
up  within  him,  for  he  now  realized  that  all  his  chance  of 
winning  the  hand  of  the  great  heiress  was  gone.  Only  by 
the  death  of  his  rival  could  he  hope  to  marry  the  girl  that  he 
loved  for  her  wealth,  perhaps,  more  than  for  her  beauty.  An- 
other agent  potent  for  evil  was  thus  raised  on  Adrien's  path- 


CHAMPION  FOR    THE  SOUTH.  105 

way.  After  leaving  Mi«s  Mordine  and  the  colonel  at  their 
residence,  the  driver  of  the  carriage,  which  belonged  to  her, 
was  instructed  to  take  Mr.  Homerand  to  the  Battery.  Here 
a  boat  awaited  him  and  the  other  oflScers,  who  reached  the 
place  shortly  after  he  did.  A  new  impulse  was  added  to  his 
ambition,  and  he  became  more  zealous  than  ever. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after  the  reception 
Adrien  and  the  other  officers  who  were  with  him  called  to  pay 
their  parting  respects  to  Mrs.  Kendeem  and  her  daughters. 
Their  ship  was  under  sailing  orders  to  proceed  to  Sandy 
Hook,  in  order  to  test  the  compasses  and  exercise  the  crew  in 
the  evolutions  of  a  ship-of-war.  A  week  was  to  be  spent  in 
this  way,  after  which  they  were  to  return  to  their  anchorage 
off  the  Battery  and  await  assignment  to  duty,  which  they 
expected  would  be  in  the  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and 
vicinity.  They  found  Miss  Ilian  Mordine  at  the  Rendeera 
mansion,  and  an  hour  was  spent  in  pleasant  conversation. 
Ilian  was  in  her  brightest  mood.  She  had  the  rare  gift  of 
talking  upon  half  a  dozen  different  subjects  at  the  same  time 
with  that  number  of  persons. 

The  principal  topic  was  the  one  then  most  prominent 
before  the  public  mind, — the  right  of  the  Southern  States  to 
withdraw  from  the  Union.  Ilian  alone  held  to  the  affirma- 
tive, and  such  was  her  power  of  persuasion  that  the  paymas- 
ter of  Adrien's  vessel,  who  was  of  the  party,  said,  playfully, 
"  Miss  Mordine,  may  I  use  St.  Paul's  quotation  ?" 

"  Certainly,  was  the  reply." 

"  Well,  your  logic  has  such  weight  that  almost  you  per- 
suade me  to  be  a  rebel." 

Several  of  the  others  aquiesced  in  this  statement. 

Miss  Edith  now  came  forward  as  the  champion  of  the  neg- 
ative side.  "  Paymaster,"  she  said,  "  where  do  you  get  the 
authority  for  this  quotation  ?  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  read 
your  Bible  very  often.  In  the  first  place,  St.  Paul  did  not 
use  any  such  words.  It  was  King  Agrippa  that  uttered  them, 
when  the  great  apostle  made  his  defence  before  him  ;  and 
some  commentators  insist  that  he  used  them  sarcastically ;  and 
he  did  not  say  that  he  was  almost  persuaded  to  be  a  rebel, 
but  a  Christian.  Now,  what  is  your  answer?  Surely,  you 
were  not  ironical  ?" 

This  ingenious  turnius;  of  the  conversation  redeemed  the 


106  ILIAN. 

day  for  the  Northern  party,  and  the  paymaster  felt  as  though 
he  had  been  completely  quashed.  The  laughter  at  his  ex- 
pense was  loud  and  boisterous.  He  enjoyed  it  as  much  as 
the  rest,  and  declared  that  he  would  be  very  careful  how  he 
quoted  Scripture  hereafter. 

Miss  Edith  followed  up  her  advantage  by  saying,  in  a 
merry  tone,  to  Ilian,  "  Now,  fair  cousin  of  mine,  you  must 
not  sow  the  seeds  of  rebellion  in  the  hearts  of  these  Northern 
officers.     I  will  stand  forth  as  their  protector." 

Ilian  laughed  good  naturedly,  and  looked  round  among  the 
gentlemen  for  one  to  support  her  in  setting  forth  her  view  of 
the  case.  Her  eyes  rested  upon  Adrien.  As  he  met  her 
gaze  a  cold  chill  flashed  over  him  with  the  speed  of  electricity. 
There  could  be  no  mistaking  her  appeal.  Her  words  as  she 
set  forth  the  rights  of  the  seceded  States  had  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  him.  He  now  remembered  that  he  was  a 
citizen  of  the  old  Bay  State ;  also  that  he  was  the  son  of 
Boston's  great  professor  and  the  grandson  of  the  honored  Judge 
Rathmine.  His  answer  was  dignified,  yet  blended  with  a  smile 
which  would  have  charmed  many  a  woman, — 

"  Miss  Mordine,  your  arguments  in  favor  of  the  South  have 
been  ably  presented,  and  I  admit  that  I  feel  the  force  of  much 
of  what  you  have  spoken.  If  the  issue  rested  between  us 
alone  the  war  would  end  at  once.  But,  as  you  are  well  aware, 
the  controversy  has  gone  from  the  hands  of  the  statesmen 
who  have  argued  these  points  for  many  years,  and  the  issue 
must  he  settled  on  the  field  of  battle.  We  are  now  compelled 
to  say  farewell  for  a  period,  as  our  ship  leaves  at  daylight 
in  the  morning,  and  we  have  to  be  on  board  by  sundown 
this  evening.  When  we  return  next  week  we  all  hope  to 
have  the  great  pleasure  of  hearing  more  of  such  skilful 
arguments,  and  we  will  feel  honored  if  you  will  visit  our 
ship." 

As  Adrien  took  Ilian's  hand  to  say  good-by,  he  noticed  a 
change  of  expression  in  her  eyes.  Her  manner,  however,  was 
apparently  as  cordial  as  ever,  and,  with  a  smile,  she  said  to 
him  and  the  other  officers,  "He  laughs  best  who  laughs  the 
last." 

A  moment  afterwards  they  had  left  the  house  and  were  hurry- 
ing to  the  Battery  to  meet  the  sundown  boat. 

That  night  Ilian  retired  early  to  her  chamber,  but  not  to 


'       CHAMPION  FOR    THE  SOUTH.  107 

sleep.  She  walked  the  floor,  pondering  the  momentous  ques- 
tion wliich  was  auitating  her  mind.  Was  her  oath  binding, 
or  was  it  null  and  void?  The  clock  of  a  neighboring  church 
struck  the  midnight  hour,  and  still  she  was  engaged  with  the 
problem,  should  she  hate  Adrien  for  her  oath's  sake  ?  Her 
happiness,  she  was  vividly  conscious,  was  bound  up  in  his  life. 
There  was  no  doubt  in  her  own  mind  of  the  fact  that  she  loved 
him.  And  now  was  the  time  to  destroy  the  germs  of  this 
affection,  if  she  felt  that  she  must  not  marry  him.  As  the 
very  thought  of  marriage  suggested  itself  to  her,  there  came 
a  fearful  revulsion  of  feeling  that  she  could  not  account  for. 
What  course  should  she  pursue  now?  More  than  at  any 
former  period  of  her  life  she  felt  the  want  of  a  mother  to 
advise  and  direct  her.  Among  her  friends  there  was  no  one 
to  whom  she  cared  to  unburden  her  heart.  She  must  rely 
upon  her  own  judgment.  It  is  at  all  times  a  diflficult  matter 
for  even  a  superior  mind  to  sit  in  calm  judgment  upon  one's 
own  feelings  and  render  an  impartial  decision.  Ilian  felt  this 
as  she  tried  to  weigh  the  question  of  her  attitude  towards 
Adrien.  Hate  him  she  could  not.  No,  not  if  a  thousand 
oaths  demanded  it.  Love  him  she  must,  and  yet  marry  him 
she  dare  not.  Why  ?  yes,  why  ?  But  to  this  question  there 
came  no  answer.  Weary  and  perplexed,  she  lay  down  upon 
her  bed,  and  her  dreams  were  troubled.  Adrien  had  refused 
to  stand  by  her  in  the  controversy  of  the  afternoon,  and  she 
felt  annoyed  at  him  for  it,  and  yet  his  answer  could  not  be 
found  fault  with.  She  dreamed  that  she  was  standing  by  the 
sea-shore,  and  heard  his  voice  call  to  her  from  over  the  deep  for 
help,  but  she  made  no  movement  to  render  him  any  aid.  Why 
should  she  do  so  ?  He  would  not  take  her  side  when  she 
appealed  to  him  for  aid.  Again  she  dreamed  that  she  was 
herself  alone  upon  the  ocean,  drifting  about  helplessly,  and 
the  night  was  dark  and  dreary,  and  the  wild  waves  were  dash- 
ing against  her  frail  craft.  She  called  upon  Adrien  to  help 
her,  as  the  boat  was  sinking  ;  then  came  a  heavy  sea  and 
swamped  it,  and  she  went  down,  but  strong  arms  raised  her 
out  of  the  stormy  waters,  she  was  folded  in  a  loving  embrace, 
and  was  back  once  more  in  a  warm  room  ;  when,  as  the  light 
fell  upon  the  face  of  her  preserver,  it  was  not  that  of  Adrien, 
as  she  had  fondly  hoped,  but  her  dead  aunt,  and  she  heard 
her  name  called,  "  Ilian,  darling,  I  am  ever  watching  over 


108  ILIAN. 

you  ;  go  to  sleep,  my  child  ;  you  have  been  dreamins:."    And 
so  she  slept  on  through  the  night,  peacefully  and  calmly. 

"  Peaceful  be  the  maiden's  sleep; 
From  the  dreams  of  teiTor  freej 
May  all  who  wake  to  weep, 
Rest  asain  as  sweet  as  she." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

SHIP    AHOY. 


The  night  was  clear,  the  moon  being  three-quarters  full. 

The  United  States  ship-of-war was  at  anchor  oflP  Sandy 

Hook,  and  Adrien  Homerand  had  the  watch  from  eight  to 
twelve.  As  he  walked  the  deck,  his  thoughts  were  full  of 
Ilian  and  of  her  remarkable  mental  ability  in  presenting  the 
cause  of  the  South.  Nine  o'clock  had  just  been  reported  to 
him,  and  the  bell  struck  two  notes.  This  was  the  signal  foj 
quietness  throughout  the  ship.  A  few  minutes  after,  the 
quartermaster  of  the  watch  reported  that  a  small  steamer  was 
heading  towards  them,  apparently  a  navy-yard  tug,  and  no 
doubt  bringing  important  orders  from  the  commandant  of  the 
navy-yard.  This  was  reported  to  the  captain.  Adrien 
mounted  to  the  bridge,  and  his  powerful  voice  could  be  heard 
far  over  the  waters,  "  Steamer  ahoy  !    AVhat  steamer  is  that  ?" 

"  The  '  x\jax,'  from  the  navy-yard,  with  despatches  and  sup- 
plies for  your  ship      I  will  come  along-side." 

This  announcement  brought  all  hands  on  deck,  and  the 
most  intense  excitement  prevailed.  The  orders,  coming  so 
unexpectedly  and  at  so  late  an  hour,  meant,  no  doubt,  that  the 
ship  must  go  to  sea,  perhaps  in  the  morning.  The  tug  was 
soon  fast  along-side,  and  fresh  provisions  and  supplies  were 
rapidly  passed  on  board.  A  long  official  document  was  handed 
to  the  captain.  Ten  minutes  after,  the  word  was  passed  along 
the  deck  by  the  boatswain  and  his  mates,  "  All  hands  up 
anchor  for  sea." 

Great  was  the  disappointment  among  the  officers,  as  all  had 
expected  another  week  off  the  Battery.  Several  receptions 
had  been  arranged  for.     Adrien,  in  particular,  had  invited  a 


SHIP  AHOV!  109 

number  of  friends,  including  the  Rendeem  family  and  Miss 
Mordine.  He  had  looked  forward  to  meeting  the  latter  with 
feelings  of  eager  delight.  Now,  by  this  unexpected  order  to 
go  to  sea  at  a  moment's  notice,  his  air-castles  were  levelled  to 
the  ground.  The  captain  called  all  his  officers  into  his  cabin, 
and  informed  them  that  he  was  instructed  by  the  Navy  De- 
partment to  proceed  to  sea  at  once,  and  cruise  for  five  days 
between  Cape  Henry  and  Cape  Hatteras,  in  search  of  several 
vessels  reported  as  flying  the  Confederate  flag.  They  had  al- 
ready captured,  so  far  as  known,  three  schooners  bound  home 
from  the  West  Indies.  No  details  were  given  of  the  size  or 
rig  of  the  vessels,  but  one  was  said  to  be  a  large  steamer, 
heavily  armed.  The  captain  further  told  them  that  he  had 
sealed  orders  which  were  to  be  opened  on  the  fifth  day. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  '^  as  we  are  liable  at  any 
hour,  after  passing  Sandy  Hook,  to  be  engaged  in  conflict  with 
one  or  more  of  these  piratical  vessels,  I  will  expect  you  to  get 
your  divisions  into  fighting  trim  as  soon  as  possible,  and  for 
that  purpose  it  will  be  necessary  to  drill  all  night.  As  we 
have  three  hundred  able-bodied  men  on  board,  we  can  give  a 
good  account  of  ourselves  in  any  ordeal  of  battle." 

In  half  an  hour  from  the  time  that  the  orders  were  re- 
ceived, the  ship  was  under  way  and  steaming  out  to  sea. 
Th^  wind  was  moderate,  but  there  was  a  heavy  swell,  which 
made  her  roll  heavily,  and  created  a  scene  that  baffles  descrip- 
tion. Over  one  hundred  of  her  men,  who  were  landsmen, 
were  stretched  all  over  her  decks  sea-sick,  and  were  mixed  up 
with  the  ship's  stores  and  fresh  provisions.  Divisions  were 
drilling,  sail  was  being  made,  the  supplies  were  stored  in  the 
hold,  and  expletives  were  frequently  used  by  both  officers 
and  men  that  certainly  would  not  adorn  a  Sunday-school  vol- 
ume. The  moon  went  down  at  eleven,  and  the  night  became 
very  dark.  By  this  time  something  like  order  was  restored, 
and  the  drilling  went  on. 

Under  the  persuasion  of  the  officers,  most  of  the  sea-sick 
men  were  working  for  all  they  were  worth.  The  sea  had 
moderated,  and  the  vessel  was  speeding  along  at  ten  knots  an 
hour.  Just  as  the  midnight  bell  was  tolling,  a  startled  cry 
rang  through  the  ship, — ■'  Sail  ho !  close  aboard."  The 
engines  were  stopped,  and  a  large  steamship  loomed  up  on  the 
starboard  beam  a  hundred  yards  away.     Battle-lanterns  were 

10 


110  ILIAN. 

burning  at  all  her  gun-ports,  showing  that  she  was  a  man-of- 
war,  and  ready  for  action.  Not  a  gun  had  been  loaded  on 
Adrian's  vessel,  and  all  felt  that  they  were  completely  at  the 
mercy  of  one  of  the  enemy's  ships.  They  were  unprepared 
to  fight,  too  near  to  attempt  to  run,  and  not  close  enough  to 
carry  her  by  boarding.  The  excitement  was  intense.  The 
stranger  hailed,  "Ship  ahoy!  What  ship  is  that?"  No 
answer  was  returned,  but  the  captain  passed  the  order  to  load 
with  five-second  shells  and  heavy  charges.  Again  was  the 
hail  given ;  still  no  answer.  A  third  time  it  was  repeated,  in 
a  quick,  angry  tone,  which,  to  a  seaman's  trained  ear,  meant 
that,  if  not  answered  at  once,  something  more  expressible  than 
words  would  follow.  The  guns  being  now  all  loaded  and 
pointed  at  the  unknown  craft,  the  desired  answer  was  given 
slowly  and  deliberately,  in  order  to  gain  more  time  for  the 
training  of  the  battery, — 

"  This  is  the  United  States  sloop-of-war .     What  ship 

is  that?" 

For  fully  a  minute  there  was  no  reply.  Strong  men  held 
their  breath,  as  each  passing  second  might  reveal  the  flash  of 
the  stranger's  guns,  and  the  crashing  of  her  shot  would  send 
many  brave  fellows  into  eternity.  The  suspense  was  terrible. 
At  last  came  the  words,  pronounced  with  a  suspicious  intona- 
tion,— 

"  This  is  the  United  States  ship  '  San  Jacinto.'  Send  a 
boat  on  board." 

Language  fails  to  describe  the  relief  to  all  hands  at  this  in- 
telligence. As  the  captain  of  the  "  San  Jacinto"  was  the  senior, 
a  boat  was  sent  on  board  with  an  officer  to  convey  the  news  of 
the  privateers.  It  had  been  anticipated,  however.  They  had 
heard  of  it  two  days  previous,  and  had  taken  Adrien's 
ship  for  one  of  these  vessels.  The  "  San  Jacinto"  went  on  her 
way,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  darkness. 

Naval  officers  may  criticize  this  incident  as  gross  careless- 
ness. It  should  be  remembered  that  this  was  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war,  and  neither  ship  carried  mast-head  or  side- 
lights. Each  was  searching  for  an  enemy's  vessel,  and  in 
the  darkness  came  close  aboard  unexpectedly.  Many  worse 
mistakes  were  made  before  the  war  was  ended.  At  the  end 
of  the  appointed  five  days  the  sealed  orders  were  opened,  and 
found  to  contain  the  following  instructions  : 


WEST  GULF  SQUADRON.  Ill 

"  Sir, — If  you  fail  to  come  up  with  any  of  the  enemy's 
vessels  within  five  days  after  leaving  Sandy  Hook,  proceed 
with  the  ship  under  your  command,  and  report  to  fla<r-officer 
William  M.  McKean,  on  the  United  States  ship  '  Niagara' 
for  duty  in  the  West  Gulf  Blockading  Squadron." 

Four  days  afterward,  the  ship  anchored  off  Key  West, 
remaining  there  a  week.  Word  came  the  day  before  leaving 
that  a  small  privateer  had  come  up  one  dark  night  with  the 
United  States  frigate  "  St.  Lawrence,"  and  mistaking  her  for 
a  Northern  merchant  ship,  had  boldly  fired  into  her.  The 
great  frigate  opened  her  ports  and  returned  a  single  broadside 
from  her  port  battery,  after  which  she  lowered  her  boats  to 
pick  up  the  survivors  of  the  saucy  craft.  All  they  found 
was  a  few  pieces  of  broken  spars.  The  crew  of  the  ill-fated 
privateer  had  been  swept  out  of  existence  in  a  second  of  time. 

This  story  has  been  denied.  It  is  said  that  the  "  Petrel," 
which  was  the  name  of  the  schooner,  endeavored  to  escape 
from  the  "  St.  Lawrence,"  but  that  the  latter  fired  upon  her 
and  sunk  her. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

WEST    GULF   SQUADRON. 

Within  a  week  after  leaving  Key  West,  Adrien's  ship 
had  reported  to  flag-officer  McKean,  and  was  assigned  with 
several  other  vessels  to  blockade  the  passes  of  the  Mississippi. 
There  the  days  and  weeks  dragged  slowly  along.  Occasionally 
there  was  a  little  excitement  to  relieve  the  tedious  monotony. 
On  the  12th  of  October  the  rebel  ram  "  Manasses  "  came 
down  to  attack  the  squadron,  but  was  driven  back,  as  was  also 
a  flotilla  of  gun-boats.  Autumn  and  winter  passed  away 
with  only  a  guerilla  warfare  carried  on  along  the  coast  block- 
aded by  the  West  Gulf  Squadron. 

As  this  story  does  not  aspire  to  be  a  history  of  the  war, 
except  as  the  several  incidents  come  within  the  experience  of 
our  principal  characters,  I  must  pass  on  to  the  month  of 
February,  1862,  when  flag-officer  David  G.  Farragut  relieved 
Commodore  McKean.      Important    operations   were   to   be 


112  I  LI  AN. 

undertaken, — a  bold  effort  was  to  be  made  to  capture  New 
Orleans.  That  city  was  defended  at  the  bead  of  the  passes  by 
two  strong  fortifications  called  St.  Philip  and  Jackson.  The 
"  Hartford"  was  the  new  flag-ship.  She  was  what  was  then 
called  a  spar-deck  sloop-of-war,  and  carried  a  heavy  battery 
of  twenty-four  guns.  In  the  month  of  April,  a  large  squadron 
was  assembled  below  the  forts ;  it  was  the  most  powerful  one 
that  had  mustered  under  the  Union  flag.  There  were  alto- 
gether seventeen  ships-of-war,  and  a  fleet  of  twenty  mortar- 
schooners,  each  carrying  a  thirteen-inch  mortar,  and  a  flotilla 
of  six  gun-boats  attached  to  the  latter  division.  The  mortar 
flotilla  was  under  the  charge  of  Commander  (afterwards  Ad- 
miral) D.  D.  Porter.  The  whole  number  of  vessels  amounted 
to  forty-three.  There  were  other  ships  in  the  West  Gulf 
Squadron,  but  they  drew  too  much  water  to  cross  the  bar  at 
the  mouth  of  the  river. 

On  the  18th  of  April  the  bombardment  of  Forts  St.  Philip 
and  Jackson  was  begun,  and  early  on  the  morning  of  the 
24th  the  squadron  steamed  up  to  the  doomed  forts,  and  at 
close  quarters  threw  in  heavy  charges  of  grape  and  canister, 
and  one  by  one  passed  them  going  up  the  river. 

The  Confederate  flotilla  was  met  above  the  forts  and  de- 
stroyed, and  at  noon  of  the  25th  Flag-officer  Farragut 
anchored  before  the  city  with  his  fleet.  Everything  in  the 
defenceless  place  was  now  in  the  utmost  confusion.  Up  and 
down  the  levees  great  destruction  of  property  took  place, — 
steamboats,  ships,  cotton,  in  fact,  everything  combustible,  was 
set  on  fire  by  the  frantic  and  excitable  inhabitants.  Captain 
Bailey,  whose  ship,  the  forty-gun  frigate  "  Colorado,"  was 
unable  to  cross  the  bar,  but  who  had  command  of  one  of  the 
divisions,  was  sent  ashore  to  demand  the  surrender  of  the  city, 
and  that  the  Union  standard  be  hoisted  upon  the  public 
buildings. 

The  rage  and  mortification  of  the  Creoles,  who  were  the 
bulk  of  the  population,  would  be  hard  to  describe.  The 
insults  which  they  showered  upon  the  landing- party  was  of 
no  avail,  and  the  mayor,  finding  an  evasive  answer  would  not 
be  accepted,  and  as  all  the  Confederate  soldiers  had  been  with- 
drawn, sullenly  surrendered  the  city.  Once  again  the  United 
States  flag  waved  over  the  mint,  the  first  time  in  twelve 
months.     It  was  hauled  down  the  following  day  by  a  few  hot- 


WEST  GULF  SQUADRON.  113 

headed  fanatics,  who  thus  foolishly  endangered  the  safety  of 
the  city.  A  landing-party  of  marines  and  seamen  was  sent 
on  shore,  the  flag  was  rehoisted,  and  the  building  guarded 
until  the  arrival  of  General  Butler,  on  the  1st  of  May,  with 
a  large  force  of  troops.  The  place  was  th.en  turned  over  to 
him.  Martial  law  was  proclaimed, — a  new  regime  was  estab- 
lished in  the  history  of  the  great  Queen  City  of  the  South. 

The  news  of  this  brilliant  victory  created  great  rejoicing 
throughout  the  Northern  States,  and  a  corresponding  depres- 
sion prevailed  all  through  the  South.  Many  thought  the  war 
must  now  come  speedily  to  an  end,  and  that  peace  was  certain  to 
follow.  Very  few,  comparatively,  foresaw  that  three  long,  weary 
years  of  harder  fighting  than  had  yet  taken  place  would  inter- 
vene before  the  sound  of  the  war-drum  would  cease  in  the  land. 

We  will  now  go  back  to  Adrien,  whom  we  have  neglected 
during  these  eight  eventful  months.  His  ship  had  been  en- 
gaged in  all  of  the  fighting  that  took  place,  and  he  received  the 
commendation  of  his  captain  before  all  hands  for  the  high 
state  of  discipline  and  splendid  training  of  his  division.  He 
received  the  offer  of  the  command  of  one  of  the  small  cap- 
tured gun-boats  from  Flag-officer  Farragut,  but  his  command- 
ing officer  prevailed  upon  him  to  remain  where  he  was.  He 
valued  his  services  too  highly  to  part  with  him. 

From  time  to  time  Adrien  received  many  letters,  not  only 
from  his  father  and  mother,  and  his  numerous  friends,  but 
especially  from  Miss  Alice  Rendeem.  She  had  fallen 
desperately  in  love  with  him  from  the  hour  at  their  recep- 
tion in  September,  when  he  told  her  that  he  preferred  North- 
ern brunettes  to  Southern  blondes.  Alice,  who  was  her- 
self a  beauty  of  a  high  order,  had  fondly  cherished  the 
remembrance  of  this  complimentary  speech.  Perhaps,  if 
the  Southern  star  had  not  crossed  his  horizon,  he  might  have 
laid  his  heart  at  her  feet,  and  certainly  she  would  have  made 
him  a  most  excellent  wife  ;  but  it  was  not  so  written  in  the 
book  of  his  fate.  He  had  received  only  one  letter  from  Ilian 
since  their  last  meeting.  It  was  brief,  and  in  answer 
to  one  that  he  had  written  to  her  from  Key  West,  in  which 
he  expressed  his  regret  at  the  unexpected  departure  from  New 
York.  Her  letter  was  non-committal;  she  told  him  that, 
compelled  by  the  demands  of  her  large  estate,  she  was  going 
to  risk  a  journey  to  South  Carolina.  Only  her  maid  and  Mrs. 
h  10* 


lU  ILIAN. 

Hortense  and  her  son,  the  colonel,  were  to  accompany  her. 
She  had  procured  a  pass  through  the  lines,  and  would  set  out 
on  the  following  week.  Later  on,  Miss  Rendeem  informed 
him  that  she  had  received  a  few  lines  from  Ilian  dated  from 
Charleston,  in  which  she  informed  them  that  she  was  going  to 
New  Orleans  to  look  after  her  property  there.  This  was  the 
latest  news,  and  it  was  five  months  old.  If  she  was  then  in 
the  city,  he  reflected,  he  might  see  her ;  perhaps  she  would 
send  him  word  where  to  call  upon  her,  as  she  knew  the  ship 
to  which  he  was  then  attached. 

General  Butler  had  restored  order  in  New  Orleans.  Adrien 
went  ashore  nearly  every  day  when  the  weather  was  fine.  His 
uniform,  however,  was  a  barrier  to  the  obtaining  of  informa- 
tion. He  called  upon  several  real-estate  agents,  and  inquired 
whether  they  knew  where  Miss  Ilian  Mordine  resided.  As 
she  held  considerable  real  estate  in  the  city,  he  doubted  not 
that  her  whereabouts  would  be  known  to  them.  He  was  in- 
variably met  by  the  ironical  inquiry  whether,  on  the  suppo- 
sition that  the  Yankee  fleet  were  going  to  remain  until  the 
day  of  judgment,  he  wished  to  purchase  a  residence.  At  last, 
however,  fortune  favored  him.  Towards  the  close  of  May,  as 
he  was  walking  up  Canal  Street  one  day,  he  met  a  Confederate 
oflicer  in  uniform,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  looking  pale  and 
dejected.  The  face  seemed  familiar,  and  he  stopped  ;  so  did 
the  stranger.  The  latter  frowned,  then  relaxed,  and  held  out 
his  hand,  saying, — 

"  Adrien,  is  it  thus  we  meet  ?  You  in  blue,  and  one  of  the 
victors ;  I  in  gray,  wounded,  and  a  prisoner  on  parole.  A 
year  ago  we  were  at  college,  and  classmates,  and  now  we 
are " 

"  Friends,  the  same  as  we  were  in  the  days  gone  by,"  in- 
terrupted Adrien,  as  he  grasped  the  unwounded  hand  of  his 
college  chum. 

''  Ned  Burrow,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you, 
and  profoundly  grieved  for  your  misfortune.  Tell  me  where 
you  were  wounded." 

"  At  Fort  Jackson.  I  was  in  command  of  one  of  the  divisions; 
a  shell  came  in  through  the  casemate  and  exploded  ;  a  piece  of  it 
wounded  my  left  arm  and  breast.  I  was  paroled  when  the  fort 
surrendered,  and  am  now  living  at  home  with  my  mother  and 
sister.     My  father  is  up  the  river  in  command  of  a  regiment." 


WEST  GULF  squadron:  115 

"  Ned,  my  heart  for  you  is  the  same  as  ever,  and  if  I  can 
be  of  service  in  an  honorable  way,  command  me." 

"  Ten  thousand  thanks.  I  may  need  your  kind  offices  for 
my  mother  and  sister.  The  hand  of  CJeneral  Butler  is  heavy 
upon  our  city  and  its  inhabitants." 

"  My  father  is  a  friend  of  the  general,'  said  Adrien,  "  and 
I  know  that  he  will  grant  any  reasonable  request  I  may  ask. 
Will  your  mother  and  sister  permit  me  to  call  upon  them  ?" 

"  My  mother  would  receive  kindly  any  friend  of  mine  ;  but 
my  sister,  Lulu,  is  what  yo.u  would  call  an  uncompromising 
little  secessionist.  I  am  afraid  that  she  would  not  extend  a 
cordial  greeting  to  an  officer  of  the  Federal  navy.  However, 
the  ice  must  be  broken,  and  it  may  as  well  be  done  now  as  at 
a  later  period.     Come  with  me  to  our  house." 

"  On  the  way,  Adrien  asked  Ned  whether  he  knew  Miss 
Mordine,  and  where  she  was." 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  he  replied  ;  "  she  is  in  Charleston.  Are 
you  acquainted  with  her  ?" 

"  Yes;  I  met  her  several  times.  Her  last  letter  informed 
me  that  she  was  going  South,  and  I  was  anxious  to  meet  her 
again." 

"  Then  she  has  written  to  you  ?  That  fact  alone  will  opea 
for  you  the  door  of  every  Southern  home.  You  were  always 
in  luck  at  college,  and  your  good  fortune  follows  you." 

Ten  minutes'  walk  brought  them  to  a  large  brick  house,  the 
outward  appearance  of  which  indicated  it  as  the  residence  of 
cultured  people.  The  first  glance  in  the  hall  and  drawing- 
room,  as  the  massive  door  opened  to  the  ring  of  the  young 
master,  confirmed  this  impression.  Ned  welcomed  Adrien  to 
his  home,  and  asked  him  to  wait  in  the  parlor  till  he  had  him- 
self prepared  his  motber  and  sister  for  the  interview,  which 
we  will  describe  in  the  next  chapter. 


116  ILIAN. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

NEW   ORLEANS. 

During  the  civil  war  the  women  of  the  Southern  States 
were  the  most  unrelenting  and  bitter  in  their  demonstrations 
of  hostility  to  the  North.  Nowhere  was  this  fact  more  con- 
spicuous than  in  New  Orleans.  General  Butler  has  often  been 
severely  censured  for  the  harsh  measures  which  he  employed 
to  repress  the  abominable  insults  offered  at  times  to  persons 
belonging  to  the  Union  army  and  navy ;  but  what  he  did  in 
this  matter  was  for  the  safety  and  welfare  of  the  city.  I 
mention  these  facts  as  a  prelude  to  the  reception  which 
Adrien  received  at  the  Burrows  mansion. 

Mrs.  Burrows  came  into  the  drawing-room  with  her  son, 
and,  after  being  introduced  to  Mr.  Homerand  gave  him  a 
cordial  welcome.  She  told  him  that  Ned  had  often  spoken 
about  him,  and  that  the  reputation  of  his  worthy  father  was 
known  all  over  the  South. 

"  You  are  the  first  Federal  officer  who  has  crossed  our 
threshold  since  the  war  began,"  she  added  ;  and  she  gave  him 
greeting,  not  only  for  the  sake  of  the  old  college  days  spent 
with  her  son,  but  also  from  the  welcome  intelligence  that  he 
was  a  friend  of  Miss  Mordine's. 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Burrows  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  her  daughter  Lulu.  The  young  lady  was  of  medium 
height,  with  dark  hair,  piercing  black  eyes,  and  a  small 
mouth.  She  was  one  of  the  belles  of  the  city,  and  was  de- 
cidedly handsome  when  smiling,  but  when  she  was  angry  she 
was,  to  say  the  least,  not  at  all  attractive.  Her  mother  and 
brother  both  spoke, — 

"  Lulu,  this  is  Mr.  Adrien  Homerand,  who  is  also  the 
fiiend  of " 

Lulu  did  not  give  them  time  to  finish.  The  sight  of  the 
blue  uniform,  brass  buttons,  and  gold  lace  acted  upon  her  like 
the  proverbial  red  flag  to  a  bull.  The  frown  on  her  face  set- 
tled deeper,  and  was  like  a  heavy,  dark  cloud  descending  upon 
the  landscape.    A  storm  was  brewing,  and  it  came.    The  long 


NEW  URLEANS.  117 

pent-up  wrath  of  her  nature  had  been  seeking  some  victim  on 
which  to  explode,  and  now  found  vent. 

"  Mother,  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  forget  the  dignity 
of  a  Southern  lady  by  giving  a  welcome  to  a  Yankee  officer 
beneath  our  roof  Father  to-day  is  at  the  head  of  his  regi- 
ment, perhaps  in  battle,  and  here  we  have  one  of  his  bitterest 
foes.  Ned,  I  cannot  find  words  to  express  my  indignation 
at  you  for  bringing  this  man  here.  He  is  one  of  the  "officers 
of  the  fleet  by  which  you  were  wounded,  and  that  terrible 
shell  may  have  come  from  his  ship.  Your  wounds  are  not 
yet  healed,  and  yet  you  associate  with  those  who  come  with 
fire  and  sword  to  invade  our  native  State.  I  am  ashamed  to 
own  you  as  my  brother." 

"  Lulu,  this  gentleman  is  my  old  classmate." 
"  Then  so  much  the  worse,  for  now  he  is  your  enemy,  and 
holds  you  by  the  throat." 

Adrien  was  aware  that  the  best  way  was  to  let  the  tempest 
exhaust  itself  Then,  looking  full  into  her  face  with  all  the 
power  of  his  great  brown  eyes,  he  said,  ''  Miss  Burrows,  par- 
don me  if  I  have  intruded  upon  these  premises.  Your 
brother  and  myself  were  very  closely  associated  at  college. 
I  have  often  heard  him  speak  in  glowing  terms  of  his  beautiful 
sister ;  I  felt  I  almost  knew  you,  and  was  anxious  to  see  you.  I 
am  here  as  your  brother's  guest,  but  if  my  presence  is  distasteful 
to  you,  I  will  beg  leave  to  withdraw.  I  hope  you  will  pardon 
me  if  I  say  that  your  lovely  lips  were  never  made  to  utter 
unkind  words." 

Xhis  reply  brought  a  gleam  of  sunshine  into  Lulu's  face. 
Women,  as  a  rule,  are  not  proof  against  flattery,  and  she  was 
no  exception.  The  frown  disappeared  from  her  face,  and  her 
mother  finished  the  sentence  that  the  impetuous  girl  had 
interrupted, — 

"  Lulu,  Mr.  Homerand  is  a  friend,  and  also  a  correspondent, 
of  Miss  Ilian  Mordine." 

"  Then,"  answered  the  girl,  now  radiant,  "  I  bid  you  thrice 
welcome.  I  hope  you  will  pardon  any  thing  I  may  have  said 
that  would  wound  your  feelings.  I  have  been  sorely  tried 
since  the  occupation  of  our  city  by  the  Federal  troops.  This 
very  morning  two  of  the  minions  of  Butler  forced  their  way 
into  the  house  and  threatened  to  turn  us  out,  to  confiscate  all 
we  have,  and  to  use  these  premises  as  an  office  for  the  provost 


118  ILIAN. 

marshal.  Their  language  was  insolent,  and  I  have  been 
chafing  under  the  insult  all  day." 

"  Let  me  assure  you,  Miss  Burrows,"  replied  Adrien,  "  that 
General  Butler  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  insult  defenceless 
women.  Many  things  that  he  knows  nothing  about  are  done 
by  his  subordinates  in  his  name,  but  the  odium  is  cast  upon 
him.  I  will  call  upon  him  to-morrow  morning ;  he  is  a  warm 
friend  of  my  father's,  and  I  feel  sure  that  hereafter  no  one  will 
molest  you.  I  will  also  be  your  bond  that  no  disloyal  demon- 
stration will  be  made  from  this  house." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Adrien  spent  a  very  pleasant 
afternoon  and  evening.  He  stayed  for  dinner,  and  entertained 
his  hostesses  with  descriptions  of  his  meeting  with  Ilian  and 
also  the  Rendeem  family.  There  was  also  much  to  say  about 
the  old  college  days  and  of  their  former  classmates.  Dr. 
llechard,  he  was  told,  was  at  Vicksburg,  surgeon  of  a  regi- 
ment, and  he  also  learned  particulars  of  the  others  who  had 
left  the  University  before  Commencement,  all  of  whom  had 
joined  the  Southern  army.  So  far  as  heard  from,  two 
had  been  taken  prisoners,  and  one  besides  Ned  was  severely 
wounded. 

It  was  late  when  Adrien  rose  to  take  his  departure.  He 
was  warmly  invited  to  visit  them  as  often  as  possible.  As  he 
took  Lulu's  hand,  she  said,  with  an  arch  smile, — 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  think  unkindly  of  me  for  my  rather 
violent  reception  of  you." 

"  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  do  so,"  was  the  reply. 
''  You  remember  that  I  told  you  that  your  lovely  lips  ^ere 
not  made  to  utter  unkind  words.  Now  I  know  it  as  a  positive 
fact." 

Mrs.  Burrows,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  thanked  him  for  his 
kind  offer  to  see  the  general  in  the  morning,  and  Ned  insisted 
upon  walking  down  to  the  levee  with  him.  Adrien  kept  his 
promise,  and  called  upon  General  Butler  on  the  following 
forenoon.  He  was  cordially  welcomed,  and  obtained  an  order 
which  set  forth  that  any  one  molesting  Mrs.  Burrows  or  her 
family  in  any  way  would  be  severely  dealt  with.  This  was  sent 
to  her  house  by  an  orderly.  Adrien  made  frequent  calls  at 
the  Burrows  mansion,  and  other  doors  were  opened  to  him  that 
were  closed  to  his  brother  officers. 

The  summer  of  1862  passed  away  in  New  Orleans  and 


NEW  ORLEANS.  119 

vicinity  without  any  special  occurrence  of  note.  The  yellow- 
fever,  which,  it  had  been  confidently  predicted,  would  commit 
terrible  ravages  in  the  ranks  of  the  Northern  invaders,  failed 
to  make  its  appearance.  This  was  owing,  no  doubt,  to  the 
efficient  sanitary  measures  which  General  Butler  had  employed. 
He  taught  the  inhabitants  of  New  Orleans  most  salutary 
lessons  in  hygiene.  A  future  generation  may  render  him  the 
gratitude  for  this  which  he  so  eminently  deserved.  He  cer- 
tainly received  none  from  those  whom  he  directly  benefited. 
Never  had  a  city  been  so  well  governed.  The  very  name  of 
Butler  was  a  terror  to  evil-doers. 

If  space  permitted,  the  author,  who  was  in  the  Gulf  Squadron 
two  years  and  a  half,  and  in  New  Orleans  during  the  whole  time 
of  General  Butler's  administration,  could  give  numerous  ci- 
tations from  his  personal  experience  in  support  of  this  state- 
ment. There  was  a  strong  under  current  of  ill-feeling  exhib- 
ited in  New  Orleans  on  all  safe  occasions  against  the  officers 
and  men  of  the  Union  forces.  Many  families  were  very  bitter 
and  vindictive. 

One  night,  late  in  the  autumn  of  that  year,  an  adventure 
took  place  that  has  much  to  do  with  the  publication  of  this 
story  and  the  unfolding  of  its  secret  in  its  present  form  to  the 
public. 

The  popularity  of  Adrien  had  spread  in  a  wonderful  man- 
ner. Invitations  poured  in  upon  him,  and  he  was  a  welcome 
guest  in  the  homes  of  the  leading  citizens.  His  brother  offi- 
cers chafi'ed  him  a  great  deal  about  this.  Another  significant 
fact  was  that  the  five  officers  who  had  gone  with  him  to  the 
Rendeem  party  in  New  York  were  often  included  in  these 
select  invitations.  The  paymaster  especially  was  made  much 
of.  There  were  times  when  Adrien  was  asked  to  bring  some 
of  the  others  belonging  to  his  vessel  who  were  not  of  the 
above  five.  No  other  ship  was  thus  favored.  This  partiality 
was  attributed  to  the  fascinating  manner  of  their  "  Count 
Chesterfield."  Whenever  he  was  off  duty  in  the  evening,  he 
went  to  a  reception. 

On  the  particular  night  above  mentioned,  about  eleven 
o'clock,  he  was  returning  to  his  ship.  As  he  passed  a  lonely 
street  near  the  levee  he  saw,  by  the  feeble  rays  of  a  gas-light, 
an  officer  of  the  Union  navy  with  his  back  against  a  fence 
and  a  small  revolver  in  his  hand.     He  was  keeping  at  bay 


120  ILIAN. 

half  a  dozen  ruflfians  armed  with  bowie-knives.  Adrien 
heard,  amidst  their  uttered  curses,  the  words,  "  Death  to  the 
Yankee  hound."  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  came  up 
in  the  rear  of  the  scoundrels,  and  before  they  were  aware  of  it 
three  of  them  were  knocked  to  the  ground  by  blows  from  his 
powerful  fist.  Then,  placing  himself  at  the  side  of  the  ofl&cer, 
he  said  to  him,  "  I  will  stand  by  you  for  all  I  am  worth." 

There  was  no  cause  for  further  action.  The  attacking  party 
fled  in  all  directions,  leaving  two  of  their  number  prostrate 
upon  the  pavement. 

The  two  officers  walked  together  to  the  boat-landing.  The 
stranger  said  to  Adrien,  "  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  my  life ; 
may  I  know  your  name?" 

"  With  pleasure.  T  am  Acting  Master  Adrien  Homerand, 
of  the  Union  navy.     Whom  have  I  been  able  to  serve  ?" 

"  I  am  an  acting  ensign  attached  to  the  United  States 
steamer  '  Tennessee.'  Our  vessel  is  made  fast  to  the  wharf, 
and  we  have  several  spare  state-rooms  on  board.  Can  I  offer 
you  one  for  the  night  ?" 

"  No,  thanks  ;  I  have  the  midnight  watch,  and  must  go  on 
board." 

"  Well,  then,  can  I  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company  to 
lunch  to-morrow  at  noon  ?" 

"  Certainly,  I  have  no  other  engagement,  and  I  will  be 
pleased  to  meet  the  brave  defenders  of  the  '  Varruna.'  I 
believe  they  are  all  on  your  ship." 

"  Yes ;  they  were  transferred  to  the  '  Tennessee  '  when  the 
city  was  captured.  I  joined  her  in  September,  but  was  not 
on  the  'Varruna.'  " 

From  that  hour  there  sprang  up  between  these  two  men  a 
warm  friendship  that  was  to  last  until  death  parted  them. 
The  survivor,  the  author  of  these  pages,  will  carry  to  his 
grave  the  tender  recollection  of  that  manly  form,  over  whose 
head  the  dark  clouds  of  adversity  were  then  hanging. 


THE   GREAT  CONSPIRACY.  121 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   GREAT   CONSPIRACY. 

A  WEEK  after  the  adventure  recorded  in  the  last  chapter 
the  acting  ensign  was  the  oflScer  of  the  forenoon  watch  on  the 
steamship  "  Tennessee."  A  young  man  came  on  board  and 
asked  for  him.  He  gave  his  name  as  Henry  Ormond,  and 
explained  that  he  was  the  bearer  of  an  invitation  for  a  recep- 
tion to  be  given  by  his  mother.  Mrs.  Ormond  said  in  her 
note  that,  while  she  had  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  him  per- 
sonally, yet  her  friend,  Mr,  Adrien  Homerand,  had  mentioned 
the  exciting  incident  of  the  previous  week,  and  had  also 
spoken  in  such  flattering  terms  of  him  that  it  would  give  her 
much  pleasure  if  he  would  come  with  Mr.  Homerand  on  the 
following  evening.  The  invitation  was  promptly  accepted. 
Mr.  Ormond  was  invited  to  remain  for  lunch,  but  declined  on 
the  score  of  urgent  business.  He  was  a  typical  young  South- 
erner. While  affable  and  genial  to  one  who  had  been  invited 
to  his  mother's  house,  he  was  cold  and  haughty  to  two  other 
officers  who  were  introduced  to  him.  Perhaps  he  considered 
his  position  in  society  compromised  by  going  on  board  of  a 
Yankee  war-ship.  That  same  evening  the  acting  ensign  went 
on  board  of  Adrien's  ship  and  showed  him  the  invitation. 

"  Glad  you  received  it,  my  boy,"  said  Adrien ;  "  it  is 
to  be  a  swell  affair.  Go  in  uniform.  Mrs.  Ormond  believes 
in  every  one  being  true  to  their  principles,  and  would  rather 
see  you  in  uniform  than  in  citizen's  clothes ;  her  husband  is 
colonel  of  a  regiment  of  Louisiana  volunteers,  stationed  near 
Mobile.  She  is  a  native  of  the  State  of  New  York,  and  is  a 
diplomat  of  the  first  water.  Admiral  Farragut  is  invited  ;  so 
is  General  Butler,  and  a  number  of  officers,  both  of  the  army 
and  navy.  The  influential  Northern  connections  of  the 
Ormonds  make  them  very  popular;  and  the  family  is  one  of 
the  best  in  New  Orleans." 

The  next  evening  was  bright  and  beautiful,  with  a  full 
moon.      At  nine  o'clock  the  drawing-room  of  the  Ormond 
mansion  was  filled  with  the  leading  citizens  of  New  Orleans 
F  11 


122  ILIAN. 

and  the  ladies  of  their  families.  Brilliant  uniforms  were  con- 
spicuous, and  good  feeling  prevailed.  Admiral  Farragut  and 
General  Butler  sent  regrets  at  being  unable  to  be  present,  but 
they  were  well  represented.  Mrs.  Ormond  gave  a  very  cor- 
dial welcome  to  the  acting  ensign  as  he  was  presented  by 
Adrien.  She  assured  him  that  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him 
at  any  time  when  he  found  it  convenient  to  call. 

"  Mr.  Homerand,"  she  continued,  turning  to  that  gentle- 
man, "  I  have  a  surprise  in  store  for  you  this  evening.  You 
"will  meet  an  old  friend  who  will  come  on  purpose  to  see  you." 

"  Is  it  a  lady  or  a  gentleman  ?" 

"  Whom  would  you  like  to  see  the  most,  Dr.  Bechard, 
your  old  college  chum,  or  Miss  Mordine?" 

"  Both  of  them.      Will  they  be  here  ?" 

"  No,  only  one ;   which  would  you  prefer?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  if  a  choice  were  given  me,  and  I  could 
only  take  one,  I  would  say  Miss  Mordine." 

"  Your  eyes  have  already  betrayed  you,  and  there  is  no 
supposition  about  it.  Like  a  sensible  man  you  would  vote  for 
the  woman  every  time.  Do  you  know  I  think  you  are  very 
fortunate  in  having  such  an  interest  taken  in  you  by  the 
beautiful,  the  wealthy,  and  accomplished  Miss  Mordine?" 

"  What !  Is  the  fair  Ilian  in  the  city  ?  and  will  she  come 
to  this  reception  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  his  hostess;  "you  must  be  on  very  familiar 
terms  with  the  young  lady,  to  call  her  by  her  first  name." 

"  I  heard  the  name  used  so  much  in  the  Bendeem  family, 
and  forgot  myself." 

"  Yes,  I  understand ;  I  will  not  betray  your  secret.  Your  face 
tells  its  own  story.    Here  she  comes  ;  I  must  go  and  greet  her." 

All  eyes  were  now  centred  upon  a  young  lady  approaching 
to  pay  her  respects  to  the  hostess.  She  was  escorted  by  an 
elderly,  clerical-looking  gentleman,  to  whom  she  bore  a  strong 
resemblance.  "  An  uncle  of  her  late  mother,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Ormond,  as  she  left  him  to  go  and  welcome  her  guests. 
Adrien  had  always,  since  the  hour  when  he  first  met  Ilian, 
thought  her  beautiful ;  but  now  he  was  lost  in  wonder  and 
amazement.  "  Angelic"  was  the  only  term  that  he  felt  was 
appropriate  to  express  her  magnificent  appearance.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  costume  of  pale-blue  silk,  cut  square  in  the  neck, 
exhibiting  her  splendid  throat,  which  was  encircled  by  a  dia- 


THE   GREAT  CONSPIRACY.  123 

mond  necklace.  A  coronet  of  the  same  precious  gems  sparkled 
in  her  golden  hair.  Her  eyes  were  searching  inquisitively 
amidst  the  throng.  When  they  fell  upon  Adrieu,  her  whole 
face  lit  up  at  once  with  a  brightened  expression.  Mrs. 
Ormond  alone  knew  of  its  cause,  and  her  generous  heart 
rejoiced  that  both  were  apparently  so  well  suited  to  each 
other.  This  was  confirmed  when  in  a  few  moments  the  hands 
of  the  lovers  had  clasped  and  the  sparkle  of  both  their  eyes 
told  the  old,  old  story  ;  they  loved,  and  their  love  was  reciprocal. 

We  have  not  space  to  tell  of  all  that  took  place  during  the 
rest  of  the  evening.  The  remembrance  of  it  to  the  author  is 
like  one  of  those  dreams  of  paradise  which  are  sometimes 
permitted  to  mortals  where  youth  and  beauty  meet,  and  un- 
alloyed joy  and  happiness  are  the  products  of  the  hour. 

The  ball  was  a  great  success.  The  bitter  feelings  that  after- 
wards became  so  intense  between  the  North  and  the  South  had 
not  yet  developed  as  keenly  as  they  did  two  years  later.  Mrs. 
Ormond  was,  indeed,  as  Adrien  had  expressed  it,  a  diplomat  of 
the  first  water,  and  her  object  in  bringing  so  many  ofl&cers  of 
the  Federal  forces  in  contact  with  the  best  families  of  New 
Orleans  was  to  ameliorate  the  harsh  conditions  that  were  at 
times  forced  upon  the  citizens  as  the  result  of  martial  law. 
In  this  she  had  been  successful.  A  conspiracy,  however, 
had  been  gotten  up  without  her  knowledge,  that  would,  if  it 
had  been  carried  out,  brought  down  upon  the  city  perhaps  its 
entire  destruction.  The  complete  history  of  this  plot  has 
never  been  made  known  ;  but  one  fact  has  been  vouched  for. 
Not  one  of  the  individuals  engaged  in  it  ever  distinguished 
himself  in  any  way  during  the  remainder  of  the  war ;  nor 
was  there  a  single  prominent  name  among  them.  It  was 
confined  apparently  to  a  few  hot-headed  young  fanatics,  who 
never  once  gave  thought  to  the  disastrous  consequences  that 
would  be  certain  to  fall  upon  innocent  individuals.  The  plan 
of  the  conspirators  was  to  take  the  opportunity  afi"orded  by 
the  ball  at  the  Ormond  mansion,  in  order  to  assassinate  General 
Butler  and  several  of  his  obnoxious  oflacials,  and  then  make 
prisoners  of  Commodore  Farragut  and  the  prominent  officers 
present.  It  was  purposed  to  convey  the  prisoners  through 
the  lines  by  night,  a  raid  being  made  for  that  purpose.  The 
signal  of  success  was  to  be  three  red  rockets.  The  immediate 
evacuation  of  New  Orleans  was  then  to  be  demanded  from 


124  ILIAN. 

the  Federal  forces,  under  threat  of  executing  Flag-officer 
Farragut  and  the  officers  captured  with  him. 

This  project  was  so  wild  and  visionary,  that  it  is  a  won- 
der so  many  could  be  found  to  give  it  countenance.  The 
unexpected  absence  of  both  General  Butler  and  Commo- 
dore Farragut  from  the  ball  checkmated  the  attempt  to 
carry  out  the  plot.  If  it  had  been  tried,  the  result  would 
have  been  fearful  to  contemplate.  Blood  would  have  flowed 
like  water,  the  city  of  New  Orleans  would  have  been  utterly 
destroyed.  The  secret  leaked  out  after  the  supper.  Several 
of  the  conspirators  were  made  incautious  by  a  too  free  indulgence 
in  champagne,  and  expressed  their  disappointment  at  being 
unable  to  carry  out  their  project.  The  remarks  were  over- 
heard by  young  Ormond.  Alarmed  at  the  proposed  breach 
of  hospitality,  he  hastened  to  his  mother  and  told  her  what 
had  been  contemplated.  Mrs.  Ormond  was  indignant  beyond 
expression.  She  sought  out  Ilian  and  asked  her  advice. 
It  was  a  serious  moment.  If  the  plot  should  come  to  the 
ears  of  General  Butler,  he  would  at  once  take  vigorous  measures 
and  arrest  the  prominent  individuals  then  in  the  house. 
Ilian's  eyes  flashed  the  scorn  and  anger  which  she  felt  at  the 
attempting  of  such  base  measures  in  the  name  of  the  South. 
Prompt  measures,  however,  were  necessary.  She  sought  out 
a  gentleman  whom  she  knew,  and  together,  within  fifteen 
minutes,  they  ferreted  the  secret.  The  ringleaders  were  then 
quietly  warned  that  if  they  did  not  escape  beyond  the  city 
limits  by  noon  of  the  next  day,  they  would  be  delivered  up 
to  the  provost  marshal.  They  left  without  ceremony,  not 
daring  to  remain  within  the  power  of  the  dreaded  military 
governor.  There  was  a  rumor  that  they  were  members  of  the 
band  called  the  "  Gray  Tigers." 

With  her  feelings  wrought  up  by  the  indignation  she 
could  hardly  keep  within  bounds,  Ilian  came  to  Adrien  and 
said,  "  The  South  is  fighting  an  honorable  war  for  her  rights, 
and  needs  no  assasin's  knife  to  enable  her  to  keep  out  of  the 
Union.  If  that  is  resorted  to,  the  years  that  she  will  have  to 
repent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  will  be  long  and  bitter." 

"  Amen  to  those  sentiments,"  answered  Mrs.  Ormond. 

This  plot  was  only  made  known  to  five  individuals  then 
present.  They  thought  it  prudent  to  guard  the  secret.  It 
was  after  four  o'clock  when  the  party  broke  up. 


THE   TEMPTATION.  125 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   TEMPTATION. 

Adriex,  as  the  fiivored  friend  of  the  rich  heiress,  was  the 
lion  of  the  hour.  Invitations  were  showered  upon  him  from 
every  direction.  He  made  the  condition,  in  accepting  them, 
that  his  brother  officers  should  be  included. 

Commodore  Farragut,  who  was  now  made  a  rear-admiral, 
believed  that  conciliation  was  a  better  method  for  the  restoring 
of  fraternal  union  than  stringent  coercion.  He  encouraged 
the  social  feeling  between  the  officers  of  his  fleet  and  the 
families  of  New  Orleans. 

It  had  been  fortunate  for  Adrien  that  the  ship  remained  so 
long  at  New  Orleans.  Rumors,  however,  were  abroad  that 
she  was  soon  to  have  a  tour  of  duty  on  the  blockade.  He  re- 
solved, accordingly,  to  make  the  best  use  of  his  time  with 
Ilian.  Although  no  declaration  was  made  by  him  to  that 
purpose,  it  was  plainly  manifested  that  his  love  was  returned. 
Two  weeks  following  the  Ormond  ball  he  resolved  to  bring 
matters  to  a  climax.  He  had  seen  her  every  day  since  her 
return,  but  she  parried  all  attempts  he  made  to  come  to  a 
definite  understanding. 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon,  and  Ilian  was  anxious  to  do 
some  shopping,  so  they  walked  up  Canal  Street  together.  He 
was  on  the  watch  for  the  opportunity  which  he  felt  would 
come. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  sad  ?"  was  the  gentle  inquiry,  as  her 
brilliant  eyes  looked  into  his. 

"  Because  our  ship  will  probably  leave  for  the  blockade  off 
Mobile  next  week." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  go  ?  Do  you  prefer  the  prospect  of  the 
dreary  monotony  of  lying  at  anchor  ten  miles  from  the  land  to 
that  of  daily  promenades  in  the  Queen  City  of  the  South, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  receptions  every  evening?" 

"  How  can  you  ask  such   a  question  ?     The  very  thought 

of  it  is  a  torture.     How  can  I  be  happy  away  from " 

Here  he  hesitated. 

11* 


126  ILIAN. 

"  New  Orleans  ?"  suggested  Ilian. 

"  No;  that  was  uot  the  word." 

"Oh,  what  was  it?" 

"  You  know." 

"  How  should  I  know  ?     You  never  told  me." 

"  Ilian,  are  you  blind  ?" 

"  No ;  I  do  not  think  I  ana." 

"  Let  me  explain,"  was  the  passionate  rejoinder. 

"  Not  in  the  public  street ;  but  go  on.  What  was  the  place 
you  said  you  could  not  be  happy  away  from  ?" 

"  It  was  not  a  place." 

"  What  was  it,  then  ? 

"  It  was  you.  Ilian,  my  darling,  I  love  you,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  going  away  from  you,  even  for  a  short  season,  is  mad- 
dening, especially  as  that  Colonel  Hortense,  who  arrived  three 
days  ago,  is  hanging  around  you  all  the  time." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  him  ;  but  let  me  ask,  if 
you  feel  as  you  say  you  do,  why  go  to  the  blockade  ?" 

"  How  can  I  prevent  it  ?  I  am  attached  to  the  ship  as  one 
of  her  regular  officers,  and  we  are  short  of  our  complement ; 
and  my  commanding  officer  would  not  approve  of  my  appli- 
cation for  leave,  and  would  oppose  my  being  detached." 

"  The  remedy  is  very  simple." 

"  What  is  it?     I  am  anxious  to  know." 

"  Resign  your  acting  appointment." 

"  Resign  !  You  surely  do  not  mean  that.  What  would 
become  of  me?" 

"  In  what  way?" 

"  Well,  financially." 

"  Your  father  is  rich,  and  you  have  your  grandmother's 
inheritance  in  your  own  right." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true;  but  my  prospects  in  life  would  be 
ruined." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  There  are  many  lucrative  positions  in 
this  city  open  to  a  man  of  your  genius  and  education  ;  besides, 
I  have  a  host  of  friends,  and  my  influence  would  be  at  your 
service.     You  have  felt  it  already." 

"  In  what  way  ?  I  know  that  the  mention  of  yojar  name 
has  been  potent." 

"  Have  not  the  doors  of  the  best  society  been  open  to  you 
exclusively  ?     Have  you  not  entered  homes  and  been  made 


THE   TEMPTATION.  127 

welcome  where  no  other  officer  of  the  array  or  navy  has 
entered  except  when  they  came  as  your  friends,  and  then  only 
with  you?" 

"  Ah  !"  said  Adrian  ;  "  this,  then,  explains  the  problem  that 
has  puzzled  so  many  in  the  fleet.  Now  I  understand  it.  I 
am  indebted  to  you  for  all  the  favors  I  received.  You  wrote 
to  these  persons." 

"  I  did  ;  and  more  even  than  that, — the  chief  of  police  had 
instructions  to  look  after  your  welfare,  and  see  that  you  were 
not  molested." 

"  Then  I  was  shadowed  by  a  detective,  who  was  my  unseen 
body-guard  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  on  several  occasions  it  stood  you  in  good  need, 
for  you  were  followed  by  some  of  the  ruffians  who  infest  the 
city,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  my  precautions,  would  have 
been  stabbed  in  the  back,  robbed,  and  perhaps  killed." 

"  How  about  that  evening  three  weeks  ago,  when  I  helped 
my  frieud,  the  acting  ensign,  out  of  a  bad  scrape  ?" 

''  The  two  men  whom  you  left  prostrate  on  the  pave- 
ment were  taken  to  the  station-house,  and  before  daylight 
the  other  four  were  arrested,  and  by  noon  next  day  they 
were  in  the  chain-gang  under  a  year's  sentence  by  the  provost 
marshal." 

"  I  did  not  hear  of  this  before." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  things  that  I  have  done  for  you 
that  you  do  not  know  of." 

"  Then  you  must  surely  care  for  me." 

"  Have  you  any  doubts  on  this  subject  ?" 

"  I  am  trying  to  reconcile  this  statement  with  the  advice 
you  gave  me  to  resign,  and  thus  ruin  all  ambitious  hopes  in 
the  navy." 

"  Did  you  not  just  declare  that  it  was  torture  to  you  even 
to  think  of  leaving  me  ?     So  I  suggested  a  simple  remedy." 

"  If  I  should  take  your  advice  and  leave  the  navy,  will  you 
become  my  wife?" 

"  Not  until  the  war  is  ended.  I  have  taken  a  solemn  vow 
not  to  wed  any  man  till  peace  is  declared  between  the  North 
and  the  South." 

"  Suppose  the  war  should  last  for  twenty  years  ?" 

"It  would  be  the  same  should  it  last  fifty  years.  My 
vow  will  be  kept." 


128  ILIAN. 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife  when  the  war  is  ended  ?" 

"  Place  your  resignation  in  my  hands  as  an  officer  of  the 
Federal  navy,  and  I  will  answer  this  question  to  your  entire 
satisfaction." 

"  I  dare  not  forsake  the  standard  of  my  country  in  the  hour 
of  her  need,  when  traitors,  with  arms  in  their  hands,  are 
seeking  to  destroy  the  constitution." 

"  Do  you  call  those  brave  men  traitors  who,  on  the  field  of 
battle,  are  upholding  the  sovereign  rights  of  their  native 
States  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  because  the  allegiance  due  to  the  Federal 
government  is  paramount  to  all  others." 

"  Adrien,  you  just  said  that  you  could  not  desert  your 
country.     It  is  not  in  danger." 

"  Not  in  danger  !     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  England  is  your  country ;  you  were  born  in  Man- 
chester." 

"  Yes,  I  admit  that ;  but  I  am  a  citizen  of  Massachusetts, 
and  the  son  and  grandson  for  several  generations  of  good  old 
New  England  stock." 

"  Well,  we  will  not  discuss  this  matter  any  further.  Return 
to  your  ship,  and  go  to  the  blockade.  Colonel  Hortense  makes 
a  devoted  cavalier." 

"  Great  heavens  !  Ilian,  do  not  mention  that  man's  name  in 
that  way,  or  I  will  rend  him  limb  from  limb.  Why  are  yoa 
so  cruel  ?" 

''  It  is  you  that  are  cruel.  I  am  anxious  for  you  to  stay  in 
New  Orleans,  and  you  refuse  to  do  it." 

''  Yes  ;  because  you  demand  it  at  the  price  of  all  that  I  hold 
sacred. — my  honor." 

"  Why  do  you  persist  in  that  way  ?  Do  you  not  suppose 
that  if  I  thought  for  one  moment  that  you  would  forfeit  your 
honor,  I  would  be  the  first  to  leave  you?" 

"Then  tell  me  in  what  way  you  look  upon  this  matter. 
I  have  sworn  allegiance  to  the  Federal  government  and 
obligated  myself  to  maintain  the  integrity  of  the  Union. 
If  I  should  resign  my  appointment  as  an  acting  master  in 
this  present  crisis,  would  I  not  be  stigmatized  as  a  coward,  or 
a  faint-hearted  man." 

"  Not  by  any  means.  Are  there  not  already  a  number  of 
officers,  both  of  the  army  and  the  navy,  who  have  resigned 


THE   TEMPTATION.  129 

and  returned  to  their  homes?  and  who  would  dare  to  call  them 
cowards  ?" 

"  They  may  have  had  good  and  sufficient  reasons  for  so 
doins: ;  but  I  have  none." 

"  I  understood  you  to  say  a  few  moments  ago  that  you 
loved  me  ;  and  now,  when  I  ask  for  a  small  proof  of  the 
earnestness  of  your  love,  you  absolutely  decline,  and  then 
coolly  say  that  you  have  no  reason  for  resigning." 

"  You  surely  do  not  wish  me  to  give  as  a  reason  for  leaving 
the  service  that  I  am  in  love,  and  eager  to  be  near  the  object 
of  my  devotion." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  to  give  any  reason.  You  have 
already  served  seventeen  months  and  taken  part  in  the  greatest 
naval  battle  of  modern  times.  You  will  have  a  war  credit 
for  gallantry  that  will  cling  to  you  while  you  live.  Tender 
your  resignation,  and,  if  you  must  give  some  excuse,  say  that 
your  private  interests  require  your  time.  I  have  influence  at 
Washington,  and  I  guarantee  it  will  be  accepted  with  regret 
and  also  with  thanks  for  what  you  have  already  done." 

"  But  my  father  and  my  mother,  what  will  they  say  ? 
They  will  ask  for  explanations  ;  and  my  classmates  of  my  col- 
lege, how  will  I  answer  them  after  all  my  speeches  about 
standing  by  the  colors  until  peace  is  declared  ?" 

"  Are  you  not  of  age,  and  free  to  dispose  of  your  own 
time  ?  What  is  the  bond  that  binds  you  to  your  college  so 
closely  that  you  dare  not  take  a  step  in  life  without  weighing 
the  factor  of  its  displeasure  ?" 

"  Ilian,  I  am  surprised  to  hear  you  talk  in  this  manner  so 
lightly  regarding  my  filial  duty  to  my  parents.  You  cannot 
be  ignorant  of  the  just  pride  felt  by  those  who  have  been 
honored  by  a  diploma  from  the  university  where  I  was  a 
student  for  four  years.  Then,  again,  there  is  the  fact  of  my 
father's  long  service  years  ago  as  a  professor.  Can  you 
wonder  that  I  hold  in  high  esteem  the  good  will  of  that  col- 
legef  No,  I  cannot  resign  ;  I  dare  not  grieve  my  father, 
who  has  labored  so  hard  in  my  behalf  ever  since  I  was  born. 
My  loving,  patriotic  mother  would  rather  see  me  dead  upon 
the  field  of  battle  than  have  me  live  with  the  stigma  of 
coward  and  traitor  to  the  Union  cause.  In  my  veins  on  both 
my  father's  and  mother's  side  flows  blood  that  was  freely  shed 
in  the  war  of  the  Revolution  and  the  war  of  1812,  and  it 


130  ILIAN. 

will  never  be  said  that  I  was  the  first  to  bring  the  blush  of 
shame  to  the  cheeks  of  my  kindred." 

"  Adrien,  all  this  would  make  a  very  good  fourth  of  July 
oration  delivered  on  the  Boston  Common,  and  my  answer  to 
it  is,  that  I  have  weighed  you  in  the  balance,  and  you  are 
found  wanting.  I  was  anxious  to  have  you  near  me  as  my 
friend  and  protector  until  such  time  as  I  can  become  your 
wife,  when  my  vow  is  fulfilled,  but  you  scornfully  decline  all 
this.  Colonel  Hortense  told  me  yesterday  that  if  I  would 
only  give  him  some  hope,  he  would  wait  ten  years,  and  be  my 
willing  and  obedient  slave  all  that  time." 

"  Ilian,  if  I  thought  you  capable  of  entertaining  a  serious 
thought  for  such  a  sycophant  as  this  so-called  Colonel  Hor- 
tense, I  would  regret  the  hour  I  ever  ofi'ered  you  my  hand  and 
heart." 

"  Adrien,  you  are  excited.  This  will  never  do  on  the  pub- 
lic street.  Return  to  your  ship,  and  weigh  over  carefully 
what  I  have  said.  Here  we  are  at  my  residence.  I  will  not 
ask  you  to  come  in,  for  in  your  present  temper  we  might 
have  a  quarrel.  When  next  you  come  to  see  me  I  will  ex- 
pect you  to  hand  me  a  certified  copy  of  your  resignation  from 
the  Federal  navy.  The  origiual  you  are  to  state,  upon  your 
word  of  honor,  has  been  duly  handed  to  your  captain  to  be 
forwarded  to  Washington.  I  will  look  after  the  rest. 
Adieu." 

A  moment  after  the  door  closed  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

THE   FATAL   OBLIGATION. 

Tt  would  be  difficult  to  find  language  to  describe  the  feel- 
ings of  Adrien,  as  he  rapidly  walked  down  to  the  landing  to 
go  off  to  his  ship.  He  realized  more  than  ever  how  deep 
was  his  love  for  Ilian.  Was  it  possible  that  he  could  ever 
give  her  up?  Yet  the  conditions  for  seeing  her  again  were 
of  such  a  nature  that  he  could  not  accept  them.  As  he 
reached  the  deck  of  his  vessel  the  first  greeting  which  he 


THE  FATAL   OBLIGATION.  131 

received  was  the  information  that  the  ship  was  under  orders 
for  sea  on  the  following  day,  and  that  the  last  mail  would 
leave  at  five  in  the  morning.  It  was  now  nearly  six  o'clock,  and 
he  had  the  watch  from  eight  to  midnight.  This  would  give 
him  time  for  reflection.  The  night  was  a  grand  one,  and 
most  of  the  ofiicers  stayed  up  late  to  enjoy  it.  The  moon, 
although  only  quarter  full,  shed  its  soft  hght  over  the  city, 
and  made  every  one  anxious  to  be  on  shore  to  enjoy  a  prom- 
enade;  but  as  the  ship  was  under  sailing  orders,  all  were 
required  to  remain  on  board.  They  were  bound  for  the 
blockade  off  Mobile,  and  it  would  probably  be  six  months,  if 
not  longer,  before  they  returned  to  New  Orleans.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock  when  Adrien  got  rid  of  his  talkative  mess- 
mates, who  enjoyed  chaffing  him,  especially  as  he  was  so  re- 
served and  totally  unlike  himself.  When  alone  he  carefully 
weighed  every  argument  that  had  been  presented  to  him  by 
Ilian  during  the  afternoon,  but  could  find  nothing  to  justify 
him  in  leaving  his  country's  service  in  the  hour  when  she 
needed  her  stalwart  sons  to  uphold  her  honor.  He  therefore 
framed  an  answer  which  he  would  write  and  send  by  the  early 
morning  post.  At  midnight,  when  his  relief  took  the  deck, 
he  went  below  to  his  room  and  wrote  the  following  letter : 

U.  S.  Ship ,  off  New  Orleans,  November  25,  1862. 

Miss  Ilian  Mordine: 

My  very  dear  Friend, — Your  ultimatum  given  to  me 
this  afternoon  made  the  condition  that  to  see  you  again  I 
must  resign  from  what  you  termed  the  Federal  navy.  On 
my  return  to  this  ship  I  learned  that  orders  had  been  received 
for  our  departure  to-morrow  morning  for  duty  on  the  blockade  ; 
consequently  I  am  unable  to  go  ashore  again  at  this  place 
until  our  return,  an  event  which  may  not  take  place  for 
several  months. 

I  am  certain  that  you  will  give  me  credit  for  loving  you 
for  yourself  alone,  and  not  for  your  wealth.  You  are  aware 
that  I  am  the  sole  heir  to  an  estate  almost  equal  to  your  own. 
You  ask  me  to  give  a  proof  of  my  love  by  sacrificing  what  I 
believe  to  be  my  honor.  I  stand  ready  to  make  every  other 
sacrifice  in  the  world.  I  therefore  now  tell  you  candidly  and 
plainly  that  I  cannot  resign  my  position  in  the  naval  service 
until  I  can  honestly  feel  some  justification  for  so  doing.     My 


132  ILIAN. 

term  of  service  is  for  the  war,  and  only  when  peace  is  declared 
■will  I  be  willing  to  lay  down  my  sword  and  take  up  the  avo- 
cations of  civil  life. 

My  love  for  you  will  never  change  while  my  spirit 
remains  a  tenant  of  this  mortal  body.  My  heart  is  too  full 
of  emotion  to  write  a  longer  letter.  As  I  fully  believe  in  you, 
and  trust  you  in  all  things,  I  ask  as  a  return  that  you  will 
repose  in  me  the  same  confidence.  I  will  anxiously  look  for 
your  answer  whenever  you  find  it  convenient  to  write.  Send 
it  to  this  ship  on  the  blockade  (off  Mobile). 

I  remain  your  most  devoted  lover, 

Adrien  Homerand. 

By  eight  o'clock  next  morning  the  ship  had  left  New 
Orleans  far  behind,  and  was  steaming  down  the  muddy  waters 
of  the  great  river.  Adrien,  as  he  stood  upon  the  poop-deck, 
thought  how  difi'erent  was  their  peaceful  passage  now  com- 
pared to  that  fearful  night  just  seven  months  back,  when 
amidst  the  awful  storm  of  exploding  missiles  and  battle- 
smoke  they  made  their  perilous  way  past  the  heavily-armed 
forts  and  the  all-consuming  fire-rafts.  It  was  a  scene  never 
to  be  forgotten.  Brave  men  held  their  breath  as  the  flash 
of  the  loud-roaring  guns  revealed  the  terrible  carnage  of 
war.  Now  no  hostile  shot  menaced  their  progress.  They 
went  over  the  bar,  and  in  twenty  hours  dropped  their  anchor 
seven  miles  ofi"  Fort  Morgan.  The  duties  of  blockade  life 
thus  commenced  once  more.  In  ten  days  Adrien  obtained  a 
reply  from  Ilian.  Its  contents  brought  the  sunshine  once 
more  into  the  sphere  of  his  life.  All  on  board  noticed  the 
change,  and  he  had  to  run  a  gauntlet  of  questions  in  conse- 
quence. 

New  Orleans,  December  2,  1862. 

My  own  dear  Adrien, — Your  letter  reached  me  the 
evening  of  your  departure.  I  did  not  fully  realize  the  value 
of  your  friendship  until  I  found  your  ship  had  sailed.  Do 
not  think  me  selfish  when  I  desired  to  keep  you  near  me  in 
New  Orleans.  The  only  way  I  saw  open  for  that  purpose  was 
to  persuade  you  to  resign  from  the  navy.  I  do  not  blame 
you  for  the  course  you  have  taken.  Your  manly,  straight- 
forward letter  has  opened  my  eyes  more  than  ever  to  the 
combination  of  noble  qualities  which  you  possess.     I  would 


THE   FATAL    OBLIGATION.  133 

have  answered  your  letter  the  hour  I  received  it,  but  I  was 
afraid  to  trust  myself  to  write  until  now.  I  have  not  been 
out  since  the  day  I  left  you  so  abruptly  on  the  sidewalk. 
Can  you  forgive  me  for  the  rude,  unkind  way  in  which  I 
parted  from  you?  If  I  could  only  have  known  that  I  was  to 
be  deprived  of  seeing  you  for  some  time,  I  never  would  have 
acted  in  the  childish  way  I  did.  I  have  been  so  used  to  hav- 
ing my  own  way  that  perhaps  I  am  spoiled ;  yes,  I  admit  it. 
I  have  refused  to  see  any  of  my  friends  on  the  score  of  illness. 
Colonel  Hortense  called  several  times,  but  he  did  not  see  me. 
Yesterday  I  sent  him  a  note  asking  him  to  attend  to  some 
business  for  me  in  Charleston,  and  I  just  heard  that  he  passed 
the  "  picket  lines  "  in  safety.  My  business  will,  I  hope,  keep 
him  away  for  several  months. 

I  had  an  offer  conveyed  to  him  of  a  command  of  a  com- 
pany of  calvary,  which  he  declined.  He  wants  to  be  colonel 
of  a  regiment.  He  is  all  the  time  talking  of  what  he  will 
do,  but  does  nothing. 

I  must  now  close,  hoping  this  letter  will  reach  you  safely. 
Don't  be  surprised  if  in  the  course  of  a  month  or  so  you 
should  be  ordered  upon  special  duty  in  this  city.  Write  by 
return  mail.     I  remain  yours,  faithful  until  death. 

Ilian. 

The  correspondence  between  Adrien  and  Ilian  was  kept  up 
as  often  as  the  mails  permitted.  Life  on  the  blockade  was 
dull  and  dreary  beyond  expression,  especially  after  the  gay 
Hfe  at  New  Orleans.  All  the  ships  lay  so  far  from  land  that 
they  were  exposed  to  the  heavy  swell  and  fierce  winter  gales. 
There  was  nothing  to  relieve  the  monotony  except  the  visit 
of  the  supply  steamer  with  fresh  meat  and  vegetables  and  the 
mail  from  the  North  once  a  month ;  occasionally  they  also 
received  a  mail  from  New  Orleans.  Thus  the  winter  and 
spring  passed  away,  and  on  the  15th  of  April  Adrien 
unexpectedly  received  orders  detaching  him  from  his  ship  and 
instructing  him  to  report  for  special  duty  to  Admiral  Farragut. 

On  arrival  at  New  Orleans  he  found  the  admiral  up  the 
river  in  the  flag-ship  "  Hartford,"  and  all  communication  with 
him  cut  off.  So  he  reported  to  the  senior  officer  in  charge, 
Commodore  Morris,  commanding  the  United  States  ship  "  Pen- 
sacola,"  then  at  anchor  off  the  city.     He  was  permitted  to 

12 


13J:  ILIAN. 

make  his  abode  on  shore.  The  Navy  Department  desired  to 
be  kept  apprised  in  regard  to  the  movements  of  certain  vessels 
belonging  ostensibly  to  Union  citizens,  but  which  were  sus- 
pected of  blockade-running.  He  was,  therefore,  assigned  to 
this  duty. 

When  he  arrived  he  learned  that  Ilian  had  been  absent  for 
some  time,  but  she  returned  on  the  3d  of  May.  Their  meet- 
ing was  a  joyful  one.  Adrien  made  a  renewed  oflFer  of  his 
hand  and  heart.  His  proposal  was  accepted  by  Ilian  with 
the  condition  that  the  marriage  should  not  take  place  till  the 
war  was  finally  ended,  also  that  Adrien  would  grant  a  request 
which  she  would  make  known  to  him  at  the  end  of  thirty 
days,  and  to  consist  of  only  a  single  word. 

"  Just  a  whim  of  mine,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  most 
enchanting  smiles.  "  You  know  that  women  have  to  obtain 
all  their  promises  before  marriage  ;  the  men  are  so  indifferent 
afterwards,  as  a  rule." 

In  vain  Adrien  protested  that  he  would  be  more  tractable 
when  he  could  call  her  his  little  wife  ;  but  he  added,  however, 
that  if  he  could  do  any  thing  now  to  please  her  fancy,  he 
would  do  it. 

"  I  am  going  to  bind  you  with  a  solemn  promise,"  said 
she,  "  that  my  little  request  shall  be  granted  at  the  time 
specified." 

In  the  artlessness  of  his  nature,  and  the  utmost  confi- 
dence that  he  reposed  in  her  to  whom  he  had  pledged 
his  vows  of  life-long  love  and  devotion,  he  accepted  both  these 
conditions,  and  gave  his  sacred  word  of  honor  to  grant  her 
request  of  a  single  word,  whatever  it  might  be.  He  then 
placed  a  solitaire  diamond  ring  on  her  finger,  and  the  compact 
was  ratified.  Never  was  his  horizon  so  clear  nor  his  prospects 
so  favorable.  He  wrote  a  full  account  to  his  ftither  and 
mother,  but  did  not  give  the  name  of  his  intended  bride,  but 
would  do  so  later ;  and  in  the  mean  time  he  would  remain 
true  to  his  purpose  of  staying  in  the  navy  until  the  war  was 
over. 


THE  POWER   OF  A  SINGLE    WORD.  135 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   POWER   OF   A   SINGLE   WORD. 

It  is  an  old  adage  that  "  lovers  take  no  heed  of  the  flight 
of  time."  The  3d  of  June  came  before  Adrien  was  aware 
of  it.  This  was  the  day  appointed  for  him  to  comply  with 
Ilian's  mysterious  request. 

He  had  never  for  a  moment  surmised  what  this  word  would 
be ;  some  girl's  notion  perhaps,  or  a  "  whim,"  as  she  expressed 
it.  Yet  he  knew  that  Ilian  was  no  ordinary  girl ;  a  request 
of  only  one  word  could  not  be  a  very  difficult  one  to  perform. 
It  was  playfully  agreed  that  as  the  clock  struck  the  hour  of 
noon  a  slip  of  paper  should  be  handed  to  him,  with  the  request 
written  on  it,  and  according  to  the  agreement  it  was  to  be 
granted  at  once.  For  several  days  he  found  pleasure  in  chaff- 
ing her  on  the  impossibility  that  any  woman  should  confine 
a  request  to  a  single  word.  He  said  jestingly  that  he 
would  adhere  to  his  promise,  but  that  if  two  or  more  words 
were  written,  or  afterwards  uttered  or  even  implied,  he  would 
consider  the  request  null  and  void.  Then  again  the  one  word 
must  be  complete  in  itself,  and  convey  an  adequate  meaning ; 
there  must  be  nothing  ambiguous  about  it. 

"Why,  Adrien,"  was  her  response,  "you  remind  me  of 
the  conditions  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice^  where  Shylock  was 
told  to  take  his  pound  of  flesh, — that  it  must  be  of  exact 
weight,  and  that  if  the  scale  weighed  a  feather's  weight  more 
or  less  than  the  bond  called  for  he  should  die." 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  my  dear,"  said  he  "  I  am  rather  sceptical 
about  the  ability  of  womankind  to  confine  their  requests  to 
one  word ;  a  Webster's  Dictionary  hardly  suffices  some  of  them." 

"  May  I  ask  what  is  the  standard  by  which  you  judge  our 
sex?  You  have  no  sisters  at  home  for  a  criterion,  and  you 
are  too  young  to  have  seen  much  of  woman's  nature.  I 
suppose  that  your  knowledge  is  gained  from  novels  and  books 
in  general.  Most  of  these  are  written  by  men,  and  what  do 
they  know  about  the  feminine  mind  ?  When  women  write 
books  they  are  more  interested,  as  a  rule,  in  the  men  folks,  and 
have  no  time  nor  disposition  to  analyze  their  own  kind." 


136  ILIAK 

"  Am  I  right  in  the  inference  from  what  you  say  that 
woman's  nature  is  an  unexplored  mystery  ?" 

*'  Hardly  unexplored,"  she  replied,  "  but  positively  mis- 
understood. Perhaps  some  day  I  may  write  a  book  on  the 
subject." 

"  Let  me  help  you ;  it  will  be  a  charming  task." 

"  But  I  ask  again,  where  is  your  knowledge  and  experience 
to  come  from  ?" 

"  I  will  take  yours  for  a  starting-point,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Ilian.  "  that  the  product  of  your  work 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned  will  be  all  inferences  and  deductions, 
based  upon  unsound  premises.  I  would  like  to  see  a  book 
written  upon  woman  by  a  man  in  two  stages  of  his  existence, — 
one  estimation  of  her  written  six  months  before  his  marriage, 
and  the  other  one  year  after  his  wedding-day." 

"  Do  you  imply  that  your  lovely  sex  change  so  radically  ia 
so  short  a  time  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  do  not ;  but  the  adjectives  by  which  men  refer  to 
them  are  different ;  just  now  you  said  '  lovely.'  Many  men 
use  the  same  term  when  making  love,  but  later  on  employ 
a  more  emphatic  one.     Am  I  not  right?" 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  ask  where  you  get  your  experience  ?"  he 
rejoined.     "  Is  it  from  books  ?" 

"  No,  not  altogether ;  I  keep  my  eyes  and  ears  open.  Of 
course,  I  am  speaking  of  men  as  a  class.  There  are  exceptions 
to  the  rule,  and  I  believe  that  you  are  one  of  them.  Now, 
after  this  disquisition  upon  the  lovely  sex,  as  you  call  them, 
we  will  turn  back  to  where  we  started  from, — the  fulfilment 
of  my  request  of  a  single  word.  The  clock  is  striking  the 
hour  of  twelve,  and  here  is  the  piece  of  paper  with  only  one 
word,  which  I  think  complies  with  all  your  demands." 

It  was  a  very  small  slip,  and  was  rolled  up  tight.  For  a 
moment  Adrien  mused  and  said,  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  a  diamond 
necklace ;  I  know  you  have  a  penchant  for  gems  of  pure 
water.  No,  that  would  be  two  words  ;  diamond  alone  has  no 
relative  meaning.     What  can  it  be  ?" 

"  The  surest  way  to  find  out,  my  dear,  is  to  open  it."  She 
placed  her  little  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  brought  her  face 
provokingly  near  his ;  of  course,  he  kissed  her,  and  her  beau- 
tiful eyes  glowed  with  a  strange  fire.  If  he  had  not  been  so 
blind  in  his  love,  he  would  have  noticed  that  she  was  now  a 


THE  POWER   OF  A   SINGLE    WORD,  I37 

shade  paler  than  usual,  and  that  her  frame  trembled  slightly. 
Slowly  he  unwound  the  tiny  morsel  of  paper,  and  his  eyes 
became  riveted  upon  the  siugle  word  that  met  his  gaze. 
It  was  full  of  unutterable  meaning  to  him.  Its  power  held 
him  in  its  grasp  and  convulsed  his  frame.  An  agony  of  soul 
which  cannot  be  described  took  possession  of  him.  He  leaned 
upon  the  mantel-piece,  and  his  emotions  found  vent  in  the  ex- 
clamation, "  My  God  !  has  it  come  to  this  ?     I  am  ruined  !" 

Again  he  took  up  the  paper,  which  he  had  grasped  tightly 
in  his  hand  as  though  it  had  stung  him  and  he  was  anxious 
to  crush  it.  Once  more  he  looked  at  it  to  be  sure  that  there 
was  no  mistake;  no,  there  was  none;  for  that  single  word 
read  "  Resign." 

"  Ilian,"  he  said  in  a  despairing  tone,  "  surely  you  do  not 
mean  to  ask  me  to  leave  the  service  of  my  country  in  this 
dark  hour  of  her  history,  when  she  has  sore  need  of  every 
arm.  Tell  me  that  you  only  wrote  that  word  to  try  me,  and 
that  you  will  not  insist  upon  the  fulfilment  of  my  promise." 
"  I  insist  upon  nothing,  my  dear  Adrien,"  said  she.  "  You 
gave  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you  would  grant  a  request 
of  one  word.  You  have  it  before  you.  If  you  decline  to  do 
it,  that  is  the  end  of  all  our  transactions." 

She  then  went  to  the  bay-window  of  the  drawing-room  and 
looked  out  upon  the  street.  The  house  was  a  magnificent 
residence  and  luxuriously  furnished.  It  had  lately  come  into 
her  possession  by  the  inability  of  its  former  owner  to  pay  a 
large  mortgage  advanced  upon  it  by  her  agent.  He  had  noti- 
fied her  that  he  could  not  even  pay  the  interest,  and  offered 
to  surrender  it  to  her  for  what  was  due.  Her  generous 
nature  would  not  let  her  take  advantage  of  another's  misfor- 
tune, so  she  gave  him  her  check  for  a  liberal  difference  and 
moved  into  it  herself.  She  had  a  large  staff  of  servants,  but 
lived  quietly  and  unostentatiously. 

After  a  lapse  of  ten  minutes  Adrien  went  to  the  window 
where  she  was  standing,  and,  with  a  voice  choked  with  emotion, 
said,  plaintively,  "  Ilian,  cannot  you  help  me  out  of  this 
dilemma  ?" 

Turning  to  him,  she  was  startled  and  alarmed  by  the  change 
of  his  countenance.  "  Yes,  I  will  help  you,  my  darling.  Let 
the  matter  stand  over  for  another  month,  and  we  will  devise 
some  means  that  will  be  satisfactory  to  us  both.     By  the  way, 

12^ 


138  ILIAN. 

you  are  going  oflF  this  evening  on  some  secret  duty,  are 
you  not  ?'' 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  gone  five  days  or  more,  up  the  river.  I  am 
going  on  a  scouting  expedition." 

"Be  careful  of  yourself;  you  may  get  caught,  and  you 
know  the  fate  of " 

"  Spies,  you  were  going  to  say.  Do  not  fear  for  me,  for  at 
present  I  am  not  going  outside  of  our  lines." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  she,  "  I  can  help  you  if  you  will  tell  me 
where  you  are  going,  or  at  least  I  can  prevent  harm  coming 
upon  you." 

"  I  gave  my  word  to  Commodore  Morris  this  morning,"  he 
replied,  "  not  to  mention  to  a  soul  where  I  am  bound,  and  no 
one  besides  him  knows  my  mission.  I  hope,  however,  to  be 
back  not  later  than  a  week  from  to-day.  I  am  like  a  man 
under  sentence  of  death  who  has  received  a  month's  re- 
prieve." 

"Why  do  you  take  such  a  gloomy  view?"  she  asked. 
"  You  have  now  nearly  two  years  of  a  splendid  war  record,  of 
which  any  man  might  be  proud." 

"  That  makes  it  all  the  more  difficult  to  think  of  resigning. 
My  parents  will  be  disappointed,  and  my  classmates  will  say 
that  I  preach  one  thing  and  practise  another.  Ilian,  I  am 
ambitious." 

"  Ambitious  of  what  ?  she  demanded. 

"  Of  rising  in  my  profession." 

"  Trust  in  me,"  said  she,  "  and  I  will  raise  you  to  a  height 
you  never  dreamed  of  before." 

"  To  be  your  husband  is  high  enough  for  any  ordinary  man  ; 
yet  the  day  on  which  I  call  you  my  wife  I  would  like  to  have 
a  naval  rank  of  which  you  will  not  be  ashamed." 

"  I  purpose  to  marry  the  man  and  not  the  rank,"  she 
answered.  "  Brass  buttons  and  gold  lace  have  no  attraction 
for  me.  You  say  that  you  are  ambitious ;  so  am  I,  perhaps 
more  than  you  are." 

"  In  what  way,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  Mine  lies  buried  in  my  own  heart,  and  I  will  use  all 
my  wealth  to  accomplish  my  object,  with  the  hope  begotten 
of  youth  and  the  experience  of  past  success.     I  shall  win.'* 

"  You  have  my  best  wishes,  and  I  have  faith  in  your  ability 
and  judgment,"  was  his  reply. 


THE  POWER   OF  A  SINGLE   WORD.  139 

"  Full  success  can  only  be  obtained  by  your  co-operation." 

"  I  dare  not  make  any  more  blind  promises  or  engage  myself 
in  any  enterprise  until  I  redeem  my  almost  forfeited  word  of 
honor." 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  now.  So  au  revoir  till  you  come  back. 
Candidly,  I  am  too  staunch  a  Southern  woman  to  wish  you 
success  in  your  secret  expedition,  but  T  do  hope  that  you  will 
return  safely." 

She  gave  him  a  smile  of  such  power  that  even  the  stern  old 
military  war  governor,  General  Butler  himself,  would  have 
been  melted  by  it.     And  thus  they  parted. 


BOOK    III.— 1863 


CHAPTER  I. 

GROSYENOR   HOUSE. 


The  upper  part  of  the  city  of  New  Orleans,  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  river,  is  called  Algiers ;  perhaps  from  the 
affinity  of  its  inhabitants  to  many  of  the  traits  of  the  Arabs 
in  the  great  city  of  the  same  name  on  the  African  coast. 
It  was  not  celebrated  either  for  its  purity,  honesty,  or  heakh. 
He  was  a  temeritous  man  who  trusted  himself  there  after  sun- 
down. About  two  blocks  from  the  river's  edge  was  a  frame 
building  with  the  rather  high-sounding  name  of  "  Grosvenor 
House."  It  was  owned  by  an  Englishman  whose  reputation 
was  not  of  the  best  odor  on  the  police  records.  He  was  pow- 
erfully built,  with  a  short  neck,  and  had  an  arm  that  could 
strike  a  blow  equal  to  a  sledge-hammer.  He  called  himself 
Bill  Harrison.  His  patrons,  when  they  had  money  in  their 
pockets  to  pay  for  what  they  obtained  at  his  table  or  bar, 
called  him  "  Bill,  old  boy  ;"  but  those  who  were  short  of  funds 
addressed  him  as  Mr.  William  Harrison.  This  always  drew 
from  him  a  smile,  and  the  announcement  came  with  it  that 
their  rooms  were  needed  for  a  friend  "  just  from  England, 
you  know."  He  was  very  popular,  but  no  one  cared  to 
arouse  him  or  to  test  the  limit  of  his  forbearance.  One  after- 
noon, about  sunset,  he  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his  house, 
in  his  shirt  sleeves,  intently  watching  a  schooner  of  very  fine 
lines  that  was  being  hauled  along-side  of  a  wharf  situated 
about  four  hundred  feet  from  his  inn.  He  heard  footsteps  at 
his  side  and  a  voice,  in  a  quiet  tone,  ask  if  this  was  Mr. 
"William  Harrison,  the  proprietor  of  the  Grosvenor  House  ? 
Without  turning  his  head  to  look  at  the  one  who  spoke,  he 
replied, — 
140 


GROSVENOR  HOUSE.  141 

*'  Yes,  I  am  the  man ;  but  I  have  no  vacant  rooms,  and 
my  table  is  full." 

"  When  you  have  taken  the  bearings  of  that  piratical-look- 
ing craft  with  her  raking  masts,  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
put  your  helm  a-starboard  and  luff  to  the  wind,  in  order  that 
I  may  get  a  good  look  at  your  fiuure-head." 

These  words,  uttered  so  quietly,  yet  with  such  a  clear  ring 
in  the  tones,  convinced  him  that  a  man  not  of  common  quality 
stood  before  him.  He  took  off  his  cap  and,  turning  round,  sur- 
veyed the  stranger.  No  one  had  ever  before  presumed  to  use 
such  authoritative  language  to  him.  The  man  was  tall  and 
well-proportioned,  with  large  eyes,  a  high  forehead,  and  an 
open,  frank  expression  that  won  confidence  and  respect  at  once. 
He  had  the  appearance  of  a  seafaring  individual,  and  one 
whose  place  had  long  been  on  the  quarter-deck.  All  this  and 
much  more  the  astute  Mr.  Harrison  took  in  at  one  glance, 
and  then,  in  a  respectful  tone,  asked  in  what  way  he  could  be 
of  service  to  the  gentleman  before  him. 

"  I  want  a  room  and  board  for  a  week,  provided  you  will 
take  English  gold,  for  I  have  no  other,"  was  the  answer. 

The  landlord  bowed  lower  than  he  remembered  to  have  done 
for  many  a  long  year,  saying,  "  My  house  is  at  your  ser- 
vice ;  and  allow  me  to  welcome  you  to  New  Orleans  ;  I  suppose 
you  are  a  stranger  here." 

"  Yes,  I  am  ;  and  I  do  not  care  to  have  my  coming  heralded 
all  over  the  neighborhood.  I  am  here  on  a  speculation.  I 
want  to  take  a  load  of  cotton  over  to  England,  and  I  may 
need  your  services,  for  which  you  will  be  well  paid." 

The  landlord  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully  as  a  new  idea 
came  to  him,  and  then  suddenly  responded,  with  a  sigh, — 

"  Ah,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  cotton  is  very  scarce  here." 

"  But  not  in  Mobile,  is  it  ?"  asked  the  stranger. 

"  No  ;  but  the  blockade  is  stringent  and  hard  to  evade." 

"  What  will  prevent  me  from  buying  a  schooner,  loading 
her  with  freight  for  Havanna,  and  slipping  into  Mobile  some 
dark  night,  and  then  out  with  the  cotton  for  Bermuda?" 

"  It  has  been  done  before,"  said  Harrison,  "  and  can  be  again, 
especially  when  backed  by  English  gold  and  energy." 

"  We  will  talk  this  matter  over  at  another  time  ;  I  am  hungry 
now,  and  want  my  supper.  Can  you  get  me  a  grilled  steak  and 
whatever  else  you  have  handy  ?     No  Yankee  dishes  for  me." 


142  ILIAN. 

"  My  wife  is  a  first-class  cook,  and  will  serve  you  up  as 
good  a  meal  as  could  be  found  in  London." 

"  All  right,  pass  the  word,  for  I  am  all  ready  to  stow  it 
away.  Let  me  ask,  before  I  forget  it,  is  that  schooner  in  the 
market  that  is  hauling  along-side  the  pier  ?" 

"  No,"  Harrison  replied ;  "  she  belongs  to  a  firm  in  the 
city,  and  is  bound  for  Mobile  to  load  cotton  for  Havanna. 
There  is  a  chance  for  a  command,  for  the  man  who  had  her 
last  trip  is  down  with  the  yellow-fever,  and  will  not  be  able  to 
go  out  this  trip." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  any  cases  of  that  scourge." 

*'  It  is  not  prevalent  now,  but  there  are  a  few  cases  im- 
ported from  the  West  Indies,  and  mostly  developed  by  hard 
drinking.     By  the  way,  captain,  what  is  your  name?" 

''  My  name,"  said  the  stranger,  "  is  Andrew  MacKenzie.  I 
was  born  in  Manchester,  but  my  folks  are  from  Scotland. 
Dumbartonshire  is  the  old  camp  of  our  clan.  I  have  been  a 
ship-master  for  some  time,  and  I  am  not  a  novice  in  blockade- 
running  ;  in  fact,  have  had  considerable  experience,  and  I 
would  prefer  that  the  Yankee  authorities  should  not  know  I 
am  in  the  city." 

"  Rest  assured,  captain,  no  one  will  disturb  you  here.  If 
you  would  like  the  command  of  that  schooner,  I  can  get  it 
for  you.  I  am  the  agent  for  the  owners.  You  can  have  a 
share  of  the  profits  without  any  risk  of  your  own  money. 
They  will  think  themselves  fortunate  in  having  an  experi- 
enced man  like  yourself  for  her  master." 

"  Well,  I  will  think  the  matter  over.  I  can  refer  to  the 
Cunard  Steamship  Company  and  other  large  shipping  firms  in 
Liverpool,  London,  and  Glasgow." 

"  Why,  captain,  your  face  is  your  passport.  The  refer- 
ence required  will  be  the  other  way.  The  firm  I  represent 
will  have  to  give  you  a  reference.  Consider  it  settled.  I  do 
not  mind  telling  you  that  I  myself  am  interested  in  her 
ventures.  On  her  last  trip  she  cleared  an  immense  profit  for 
all  concerned." 

"  Can  you  get  a  clearance  without  any  trouble  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  we  cleared  her  in  water-ballast  for  Havanna ; 
she  was  duly  inspected  and  passed,  and  was  overhauled  at 
Southwest  Pass;  also  by  three  gun-boats  off  the  blockade; 
and  yet  she  got  into  Mobile  with  a  valuable  cargo." 


GROSVENOR  HOUSE.  143 

"  I  don't  understand  how  that  could  be  done,  if  she  was 
in  ballast." 

"  I  did  not  say  that  she  was  in  ballast,  but  only  cleared  as 
such." 

"  Then  the  officers  who  overhauled  her  must  have  been 
very  careless." 

"No,  not  by  any  means,"  answered  Harrison;  "  she  was 
well  searched  each  time,  but  as  they  could  find  nothing,  and 
as  her  papers  were  duly  signed  by  General  Butler,  they  had 
to  let  her  go." 

I  must  admy;,  you  interest  me  very  much,  Mr.  Harrison, 
and  I  will  be  very  glad  to  obtain  the  secret.  I  am  aware  that 
much  money  can  be  made  by  a  cargo  into  Mobile  and  a  load 
of  cotton  out.  He  needs  to  be  a  sharp  man  who  can  get  the 
weather-gauge  of  those  Yankee  officers  on  the  blockade,  for 
they  are  like  blood-hounds  on  the  trail." 

Here  Bill  Harrison  indulged  in  a  hearty  laugh,  and, 
placing  his  hand  familiarly  on  the  shoulder  of  his  guest, 
said, — 

"  Captain  MacKenzie,  let  us  have  some  good  old  port  that 
has  not  been  tainted  by  duty  paid  on  it,  and  1  will  explain  the 
modus  operandi^ 

It  was  only  on  very  rare  occasions  that  the  landlord  of  the 
Grosvenor  House  touched  either  wines  or  liquors.  He  had 
seen  the  evil  efi'ects  of  them  on  so  many  men  that,  while  he 
dispensed  the  fiery  liquid  to  his  customers,  he  abstained  him- 
self. The  wine  was  opened,  and  they  sat  down  to  taste  it 
while  the  dinner  was  preparing.  He  drank  a  large  glassful 
to  the  health  of  his  new  guest,  then  another  to  old  England, 
and  again  to  the  Confederacy.  He  did  not  observe,  however, 
that  Captain  MacKenzie  adroitly  emptied  nearly  all  his  into  a 
large  spittoon  at  his  feet  filled  with  sawdust. 

"  Mr.  Harrison,"  said  he,  "  this  wine  is  worthy  of  the 
Grosvenor  House.  I  had  no  idea  such  rare  old  vintage  could 
be  found  in  your  cellar." 

"  Oh,  captain,  perhaps  something  besides  wine  could  be 
found  there.  Let  us  fill  up  again  for  the  success  of  your 
new  command." 

"  Once  more  the  glasses  touched,  and  the  contents  of  one 
went  into  the  sawdust.  It  was  harmless  there.  Harrison's 
tongue  was  now  thoroughly  unloosed. 


144  ILIAN. 

"  Captain,"  said  he,  "  it  is  a  proud  day  in  my  life  when  I 
have  the  great  and  well-known  Captain  Andrew  MacKenzie 
as  a  guest  under  my  roof.  My  wife  will  wait  upon  you,  and 
your  dinner  will  be  ready  for  you  in  a  few  minutes.  There 
is  a  private  parlor  for  your  exclusive  use,  and  I  will  send  in 
no  bills." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  cannot  accept  that.  I  have  plenty  of  money." 
And  a  handful  of  English  sovereigns  was  laid  on  the  table. 

"  Put  up  your  money,  my  dear  captain  ;  and  if  I  don't 
make  every  sovereign  in  your  pocket  increase  fifty-fold  before  a 
month  is  passed,  then  my  name  is  not  Bill  Harrison.  From 
Manchester  you  said  you  came  ?  I  have  been  there  many  a 
time.  I  was  born  myself  in  Sheffield.  We  will  have  plenty 
of  time  to  talk  over  old  England  before  the  '  Emily  Sutton  ' 
sails  with  her  new  master." 

"  Is  that  the  name  of  the  schooner  that  you  want  me  to 
take?" 

"  Yes ;  and  she  is  called  after  as  pretty  a  girl  as  ever 
turned  the  head  of  youth." 

"  You  have  not  told  me,  Mr.  Harrison,  how  the  '  Emily 
Sutton  '  managed  to  hide  her  valuable  cargo." 

"  Don't  call  me  '  Mr.  Harrison.'  I  would  prefer  that  a 
great  captain  like  yourself  should  say  '  Bill  Harrison,'  or, 
better  still,  '  Bill,  my  boy.'  " 

*'  Just  as  you  wish.  Bill,  you  level-headed  old  bull-dog, 
explain  about  that  mysterious  cargo." 

"  That  is  the  style  ;  give  me  your  hand.  Now  for  the 
racket  played  on  the  Yankee  blockaders." 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE    BLOCKADE-RUNNER. 


Bill  Harrison  filled  the  glasses  again. 

"  Captain  MacKenzie,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  know  it 
takes  a  diamond  to  cut  a  diamond.  The  idea  of  our  hidden 
cargo  originated  with  a  Yankee  from  Connecticut.  I  told 
you  that  "the  '  Emily  Sutton '  cleared  in   ballast.     She  had 


THE  BLOCKADE-RUNNER.  145 

about  two  hundred  casks,  filled  with  water  apparently,  which 
"we  stated  were  to  be  used  for  a  cargo  of  molasses  from  the 
West  Indies,  Each  cask  was  divided  into  three  compart- 
ments. The  middle  one,  being  very  narrow,  was  filled  with 
water  ;  i\\Q  two  end  ones  were  lined  with  tin  and  filled  with 
ammunition,  rifles  in  sections,  medicine,  and  other  valuable 
articles  needed  in  the  Confederacy.  These  were  all  placed  in 
position  and  the  casks  headed  up,  and  when  stowed  the  water 
was  put  in  the  middle  one ;  a  large  bung  for  each  one  was 
arranged  to  come  out  easily,  and  a  tin  dipper  was  provided  to 
draw  water  out  by  the  inspecting  officer.  When  she  cleared 
from  Mobile,  compressed  cotton  was  placed  in  the  end  compart- 
ments, so  that  if  overhauled  nothing  would  be  found.  On  her 
return  trip  last  time  she  put  molasses  instead  of  water  in  the 
centre  compartment,  and  slipped  into  Mobile  a  second  time, 
discharged  a  valuable  consignment,  and  then  brought  a  lot  of 
cotton  here.  We  have  her  nearly  ready  with  merchandise 
purchased  in  New  York.  If  you  can  get  her  into  Mobile 
going  and  coming  from  Havanna,  it  will  be  a  matter  of  five 
thousand  pounds  in  your  pocket.  You  ought  to  be  back  here 
in  a  month,  or  five  weeks  at  the  utmost.  We  will  pay  you 
twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  value  of  the  net  profits  of  the 
round  trip.     She  will  be  ready  to  sail  this  day  week.' ' 

"  Your  ofi'er  is  so  tempting,  you  generous  old  Briton,  that  I 
must  perforce  accept." 

"  Then  I  greet  you  as  Captain  Andrew  MacKenzie,  com- 
manding the  Confederate  schooner  '  Emily  Sutton.'  Come, 
your  dinner  is  ready.  There  is  your  special  servant  while  you 
are  my  guest.  Come  here,  you  black  scoundrel,"  addressing 
a  tall,  powerfully-built  mulatto,  who  stood  with  a  white  apron 
on,  waiting  for  orders.     "  You  see  this  gentleman  here?" 

"  Yes,  massa,  I  sees  him," 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  don't  promptly  obey  all  orders  he  gives 
you,  I  will  break  every  bone  in  your  black  body  ;  do  you 
hear?" 

"Yes,  Massa  Harrison,  I  hears." 

"  If  you  don't  do  something  more  than  hear,  I  will  be  into 
your  wool." 

"  Yes,  sah.  I  waits  on  de  gentleman  to  his  utmost  satis- 
faction." 

The  dinner  was  admirably  served,  far  beyond  what  might 
Q        k  13 


146  ILIAN. 

have  been  expected  from  the  outward  appearance  of  the  Gros- 
venor  House.  At  an  early  hour  the  guest  desired  to  be  shown 
to  his  room,  on  the  plea  of  being  tired.  Everything  so  far 
had  succeeded  beyond  his  expectations.  Nothing  seemed 
likely  to  mar  his  project,  and  only  his  fatal  obligation  to  Ilian 
stood  in  the  way  of  his  happiness;  for  "  Captain  MacKenzie" 
was  no  other  than  Acting  Master  Adrien  Homerand.  The 
next  morning  he  was  duly  installed  as  commander  of  the 
"  Emily  Sutton,"  and  superintended  her  preparations  for  sea. 
Several  times  he  expressed  a  desire  to  be  introduced  to  the 
other  owners.  Harrison  made  evasive  answers,  saying  that 
everything  was  left  in  his  hands  ;  and  finally  acknowledged 
that  he  himself  was  the  chief  owner,  and  the  others  merely 
attended  to  purchasing  her  cargo  and  getting  the  clearance- 
papers,  for  which  he  paid  them  a  percentage  of  the  profits. 
A  first  and  second  mate  and  a  crew  of  four  men  and  a  cook 
were  shipped.  Some  repairs  were  needed,  which  would  be 
finished  to  allow  of  her  sailing  at  the  proper  time.  Adrien 
purposed  to  send  word  of  the  whole  proceeding  to  Commodore 
Morris,  and  also  to  inform  the  senior  officer  on  the  blockade 
in  regard  to  the  false  casks  of  water ;  as  no  doubt  other  ves- 
sels were  adopting  this  shrewd  plan  of  smuggling  goods  con- 
traband of  war.  Before  doing  so,  however,  he  wished  to 
obtain  further  details  of  other  individuals  engaged  in  blockade- 
running  ;  also,  what  Bill  Harrison  meant  when  he  vaguely 
hinted  that  he  had  something  more  than  wine  in  his  cellar. 
Three  days  passed  rapidly,  and  Adrien  had  gained  much 
valuable  information.  But  he  could  not  fathom  the  mys- 
tery about  his  landlord.  After  the  first  night  Harrison 
had  not  been  so  communicative.  He  had  allowed  himself 
then  to  be  pumped  dry,  in  a  measure.  He  was  profoundly 
respectful  to  his  honored  guest,  as  he  continually  called  him, 
and  kept  him  well  supplied  with  wine  and  other  luxuries,  but 
refused  to  touch  any  himself,  on  the  score  that  a  single  glass 
awakened  a  morbid  appetite,  and  therefore  he  restrained  him- 
self. At  times  he  would  assume  the  arrogant  manner  of  a  man 
who  had  both  power  and  wealth  at  his  command.  Money  he 
certainly  had  ;  yet  he  would  draw  a  five-cent  glass  of  beer 
with  as  much  apparent  desire  to  please  as  though  his  whole 
living  depended  upon  this  petty  trade.  Adrien  had  closely 
scanned  the  servants  of  the  house,  to  see  if  there  was  one 


THE  BLOCKADE-RUNNER.  147 

whom  he  could  safely  interrogate.  They  all  exhibited  a  great 
dread  of  their  master,  and  some  fled  in  ahject  terror  when  he 
came  near  them.  They  were  a  mixed  lot,  slaves  and  poor 
whites.  The  staff  was  larger  than  the  house  needed,  and  it 
was  evident  that  they  had  at  times  other  work  to  do  besides 
the  duties  of  the  hotel.  Well-dressed  people  came  there, 
stayed  for  a  short  time,  and  left.  This  was  noticed  especially 
after  dark.  The  mulatto  detailed  to  wait  on  Adrien  was  the 
one  he  finally  selected  as  the  most  likely  to  give  him  the 
points  he  needed. 

He  was  called  Sam,'  and  declared  that  he  never  had  use 
for  another  name.  He  often  said,  "  What  for  a  nigger  want 
two  names  ?  One  mighty  unhandy  to  have  when  de 
police  am  after  you,  and  de  debil  don't  want  no  name  to 
find  you.  No,  sah ;  one  name  am  enough  for  dis  nigger, 
sure." 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  he  came  into  Adrien's 
bedroom  to  take  his  orders  for  breakfast,  and  the  pumping 
process  began,  with  what  result  the  sequel  will  show. 

"  Sam,  how  old  are  you?" 

"  Lord  a  massa,  dat  am  a  mighty  home-question.  Hab  you 
de  idea  ob  investing  in  dis  ere  nigger?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  do  you  suppose  your  master  would 
let  you  come  with  me  to  Mobile  and  other  ports  ?" 

"  You  hab  a  powerful  sight  ob  influence  wid  Massa  Har- 
rison ;  but  it  am  de  opinion  ob  dis  ere  woolly  head  dat  it  would 
not  pay  to  ask  dat  question  ob  him." 

"  Why  so  ?  I  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you.  You  are 
a  very  intelligent  man,  far  above  the  average  ;  and  as  I  am 
now  in  the  employ  of  Mr.  Harrison,  your  services  on  the 
*  Emily  Sutton'  would  be  to  his  interest  and  all  concerned." 

"  Dat  am  de  way  you  look  at  dis  question  ;  but  Massa  Har- 
rison he  looks  at  it  in  anodder  light ;  besides,  he  don't  own 
dis  child ;  he  am  de  boss  and  de  superintendent  only." 

"  Who  is  this  owner  you  speak  about  ?  does  he  reside  in 
New  Orleans?" 

"  It  am  a  lady,  but  I  dare  not  mention  de  name ;  and  I  am 
sure  dat  she  nebber  consent  to  dis  nigger  going  to  English 
territory.  I  am  acquainted  wid  too  many  ob  de  mysterious 
goings-on  ob  dis  house  and  de  business  in  general  to  be  let  go 
out  ob  dar  sight." 


148  ILIAN. 

"  What  are  the  mysterious  phases  of  this  house  ?" 

Here  Sam  closed  the  door,  and,  looking  cautiously  around, 
came  nearer  his  questioner,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Massa 
Harrison  hab  a  long  whip  and  a  powerful  site  ob  arm,  and  dis 
nigger's  skin  am  too  tender  to  risk  massa's  anger.  A  preacher 
said  de  oder  day  dat  ignorance  am  sometimes  bliss  ;  in  dis  case 
I  assure  you,  Massa  MacKenzie,  dat  you  am  a  blissful  man  ; 
better  you  remain  dat  way.  I  serb  you  to  de  utmost  ob  my 
ability,  and  I  don't  nebber  done  gone  and  forgot  your  kind 
"words, — dey  am  a  scarce  article  in  dis  house.  And,  captain, 
it  am  de  solid  opinion  ob  your  servant  before  you,  dat  you  bet- 
ter sail  wid  dat  schooner  as  soon  as  possible,  and  perhaps  if 
you  don't  come  back  it  am  to  your  advantage.  Must  go  now  ; 
Missus  am  suspicious,  and  if  I  stay  too  long,  she  come  to  de 
key-hole  and  examine  what  am  going  on.  You  can  trust  dis 
nigger.  Your  kindness  am  deep-rooted  in  my  heart.  Don't 
let  on  to  Massa  Harrison  I  been  speaking  so  long ;  de  smell 
ob  dat  whip  am  bad  fur  nigger  digestion." 

Adrien  was  puzzled  ;  the  problem  was  deeper  than  ever.  It 
was  true  he  had  discovered  one  of  the  potent  agents  of  the 
blockade-running,  and  could  stop  the  "  Emily  Sutton ;"  but 
the  Grosvenor  House  was  the  rendezvous  for  something  more 
than  the  mere  sending  of  contraband  goods  into  Mobile.  If 
bis  identity  was  discovered,  or  even  suspected,  he  never  would 
escape  with  his  life.  How  should  he  send  information  to 
Commodore  Morris  ?  The  mail  was  too  risky,  and  besides 
there  was  no  branch  post-t-ffice  nearer  than  two  miles ;  and  if 
he  attempted  to  go  there  he  ran  the  risk  of  being  discovered. 
Every  time  he  had  gone  out  for  a  short  walk  he  was  "  shadowed" 
by  a  rough-looking  white  man  who  was  generally  hanging 
round  the  kitchen.  He  knew  that  this  was  the  work  of  Mrs. 
Harrison,  for  she  was  suspicious  of  every  one  who  came  around 
the  house.  The  two  mates  and  the  crew  of  the  schooner  were 
men  of  Harrison's  type,  and  in  his  confidence;  and  any  attempt 
at  treachery  on  the  way  down  the  river  would  be  resented  by 
them. 

Adrien  at  this  time  had  not  seen  his  landlord  since  the  pre- 
vious afternoon.  Harrison  had  gone  to  the  city,  remaining 
away  all  night,  arranging  matters  for  the  departure  of  the 
"  Emily  Sutton."  Adrien  dressed  himself  and  went  to  his  break- 
fast, but  could  not  eat.     The  day  was  sultry,  yet  he  felt  cold. 


YELL  0  W-FE  VER.  149 

As  he  sat  at  the  table  he  was  taken  with  a  severe  chill.  At 
first  this  gave  him  no  alarm.  He  took  some  quinine  that  he 
had  provided  himself  with.  The  chill  changed  to  fever;  so 
he  went  back  to  his  bedroom  and  laid  down.  Sam  went  with 
him  and  bathed  his  head.  His  blood  now  seemed  to  be  all  on 
fire,  and  he  wondered  whether  he  had  an  attack  of  yellow- 
fever.  He  had  been  down  a  good  deal  in  the  hold  of  the 
schooner  investigating  the  secret  of  the  false  casks.  He  might 
thus  have  contracted  the  fever  there,  or  perhaps  in  the  cabin, 
as  her  former  captain  was  then  at  death's  door  with  the  disease. 
He  now  felt  that  he  could  not  return  to  the  "  Pensacola,"  nor 
to  his  apartments  in  the  city ;  yet  if  he  remained  where  he 
was,  he  might  in  the  delirium  of  fever  betray  his  identity, 
which  would  be  certain  death.     He  sent  Sam  for  the  landlady. 


CHAPTER   HI. 

TELLOW-FEYER. 


Nothing  has  such  power  to  appal  a  seaman  as  the  mention 
of  yellow-fever.  The  fierce  howling  of  the  gale  as  it  sweeps 
through  the  rigging  of  his  ship  is  music  to  his  ears.  The 
flash  of  the  lightning  and  roar  of  the  thunder  do  not  un- 
nerve him  in  the  least,  but  he  quails  before  "  yellow-jack." 
Adrien  knew  and  realized  his  double  danger.  He  was  fast 
losing  that  power  to  act  promptly  in  a  time  of  danger,  which 
had  previously  been  his  distinguishing  trait. 

Mrs.  Harrison  came  to  his  room.  She  was  a  tall,  angular 
woman  of  English  birth,  and  her  one  absorbing  passion  was 
her  suspicion  of  every  one  around  her.  She  made  her  ser- 
vants miserable  by  constantly  accusing  them,  first  of  one  thing 
and  then  of  another.  She  had  not  taken  kindly  to  Adrien, 
and  had  worried  her  husband  with  the  assertion  that  Captain 
MacKenzie  was  a  Yankee  spy.  Only  the  morning  before,  he, 
wearied  with  her  suspicions,  had  broken  out  on  her  with  not 
very  choice  adjectives,  and  asked  her  if  she  thought  him  such 

13* 


150  ILIAN. 

a  fool  as  not  to  know  an  Englishman  from  a  blasted  Yankee. 
This  had  increased  her  vindictive  feeling  for  her  guest,  and 
it  was  in  tins  frame  of  mind  that  she  answered  his  call.  In 
a  few  words  he  told  her  of  his  condition,  and  asked  her  if 
she  thought  these  were  symptoms  of  yellow-fever.  At  the 
mention  of  the  dreaded  name  she  turned  deadly  pale.  A  sin- 
gle glance  sufficed  her.  The  man  before  her  was  very  ill. 
Almost  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  accepted  the  facts 
without  indulging  in  her  weakness  of  suspecting  something  or 
other.  At  heart  she  was  sympathetic,  and  the  sight  of  suffer- 
ing roused  all  the  generous  impulses  of  her  nature.  She  per- 
ceived at  a  glance  that  prompt  measures  were  of  the  utmost 
importance.  As  it  was  beyond  doubt  a  case  of  genuine  yellow- 
fever,  she  knew  what  to  do,  having  lived  so  long  in  the  South 
and  seen  many  cases  of  it. 

"  Captain  MacKenzie,"  she  said,  "  if  you  have  any  friends 
in  New  Orleans,  you  had  better  send  them  word  of  your  con- 
dition, for  I  think  that  before  six  hours  are  passed  you  will 
be  delirious.  The  captain  who  commanded  the  '  Sutton  '  on 
her  last  trip  died  this  morning,  and  I  believe  he  might  have 
been  saved  if  he  had  obtained  proper  nursing.  Yellow-fever 
is  easy  to  manage  if  taken  in  time,  and  a  good  nurse  is  more 
essential  than  a  doctor." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  sick  man  ;  ''  I  had  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction to  a  Southern  lady  of  wealth  and  position,  and 
called  upon  her,  and  she  received  me  very  kindly ;  but  I  did 
not  tell  her  where  I  was  going,  or  what  I  purposed  to  do." 

"  What  is  her  name,  and  where  does  she  live  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  would  be  doing  the  proper  thing  to 
mention  her  name  to  a  stranger." 

"  Well,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  your  life  is  now  at 
stake,  and  you  need  all  the  friends  you  have.  My  hus- 
band and  myself  will  do  whatever  we  can  to  aid  you,  but  I 
think  it  would  be  far  better  if  you  were  removed  at  once  to 
a  more  healthy  neighborhood.  Sam  will  take  a  letter  to  any 
of  your  friends." 

There  was  no  time  to  consider  about  the  judiciousness  of 
letting  his  landlady  know  of  his  acquaintance  with  Ilian.  He 
had  barely  strength  to  write  in  a  trembling  hand  the  follow- 


YELLO  W-FE  VER.  151 

Grosvenor  House,  June  6,  1863. 
Miss   Ilian    Mordine, — I    am   down  with    yellow-fever 
just  developed.     Must  be  removed  to  other  quarters.     Can 
you  help  me  ?  Captain  Andrew  MacKenzie, 

of  Manchester,  England. 
P.S.     The  servant  who  takes  this  note  is  called  Sam ;  he 
will  tell  you  all  particulars.  A. 

This  note  was  handed  to  Mrs.  Harrison  to  read  while  he 
directed  the  envelope.  His  eyes  were  becoming  dim,  and  a 
terrible  nausea  was  felt  in  his  stomach.  He  now  lay  down 
and  wondered  whether  Ilian  would  risk  the  danger  of  conta- 
gion, and  come  and  see  him.  The  landlady  read  the  note, 
and  exclaimed,  "What!  do  you  know  Miss  Ilian  Mordine? 
Pardon  me  for  suspecting  you  for  a  Yankee  spy." 

It  was  Adrien's  time  for  amazement.  He  asked,  "Do  you 
know  her?" 

A  smile  was  the  only  answer,  but  it  was  full  of  deep  mean- 
ing. She  told  Sam  to  take  the  note,  saddle  a  horse  out  of  the 
stable,  ride  at  full  speed 'to  the  ferry,  cross  over,  and  deliver 
it  to  Miss  Mordine. 

Adrien  began  to  explain  the  locality,  when  Sam  interrupted 
him,  sajing, — 

"  Captain  MacKenzie,  I  know  dat  place  better  dan  you  do. 
I's  mighty  glad  you  hab  de  honor  ob  knowing  dat  illustrious 
lady  dat " 

"  Sam,  leave  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Harrison,  "  and  don't  lose 
a  minute  on  the  road."  And  she  gave  him  a  look  of  mys- 
terious caution  that  the  sick  man  did  not  fail  to  notice.  More 
mystery  and  more  problems,  he  thought.  But  the  great 
problem  now  was  how  to  battle  successfully  with  the  pesti- 
lence that  had  taken  hold  upon  him.  Mrs,  Harrison  covered 
him  with  blankets,  sent  for  some  ice  to  put  on  his  forehead, 
gave  him  the  usual  preparatory  medicine,  and  sat  by  his  bed- 
side and  encouraged  him. 

After  the  lapse  of  two  hours,  carriage- wheels  were  heard, 
and  half  a  dozen  persons  entered  the  sick-chamber.  The 
fever-stricken  patient  now  barely  recognized  any  one.  He 
heard  the  voice  of  his  landlord  asking  how  he  felt,  and  then 
there  was  a  soft  voice  that  thrilled  every  fibre  of  his  nature, 
and  he  was  conscious  that  Ilian  stood  by  his  side.     Stooping 


152  ILIAN. 

down  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  '^Adrien,  my  darling,  I  will 
keep  your  identity  secret,  and  will  nurse  you  myself.  We 
will  remove  you  at  once  to  more  suitable  quarters.  I  have 
brought  an  old  friend,  Dr.  Kechard.  Do  you  recognize 
him  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  faint  reply  and  the  strong  man's  reason 
was  swept  from  its  pedestal  by  the  fierce  fire  of  the  malignant 
fever ;  delirium  followed.  He  did  not  realize  that  powerful 
arms  lifted  him  tenderly  from  his  bed  and  carried  him,  all 
wrapped  in  blankets,  to  a  carriage ;  nor  that  a  gentle  hand 
bathed  his  burning  brow  and  spoke  sweet  words  of  comfort. 
Nor  did  he  know  that  a  skilful  surgeon  held  his  head  in  his 
arms  while  the  carriage  with  closed  blinds  dashed  swiftly  over 
the  streets.  He  was  not  conscious  when  he  was  carried  into 
a  large,  cool  room,  and  placed  in  a  soft  bed,  and  watchers 
ware  installed  to  help  him  to  tight  in  the  battle  for  his  life. 
For  three  days  and  nights  Adrien  was  wildly  delirious ;  the 
best  medical  skill  was  obtained  for  his  benefit;  Dr.  Rechard 
seldom  left  the  room.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  a 
consultation  was  held.  Three  out  of  the  four  doctors  declared 
that  the  patient  would  pass  away  in  a  few  hours.  Doctor 
Rechard  alone  had  hope  of  his  recovery.  He  based  his  judg- 
ment upon  his  previous  knowledge  of  Adrien's  former  habits 
of  life,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  never  indulged  in  any  of  the 
excesses  of  youth.  He  had  been  temperate  in  both  eating  and 
drinking,  was  regular  in  his  meals  and  methodical  in  his 
habits,  and  had  inherited  a  sound  physical  system.  The  other 
three  physicians  were  older  men,  and  had  more  experience. 
Doctor  Rechard  was  a  young  man  of  unusual  talents. 
Finally,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  consultation,  he  affirmed  that 
the  best  medical  authorities  maintained  that  where  the  organic, 
the  physical,  and  moral  laws  by  which  we  are  governed  are 
properly  observed  in  all  their  aspects,  it  tends  as  a  powerful 
ftictor  to  help  recovery  from  severe  illness,  especially  where 
the  patient  is  in  the  prime  of  life.  "  These  facts,"  he  added, 
"  should  preponderate  in  the  balances  of  life  and  death  in  the 
present  case."  Upon  one  point  they  all  agreed,  and  that  was, 
that  a  change  would  take  place  in  the  patient's  condition  by 
midnight ;  and  that  if  his  reason  was  restored,  it  would  greatly 
tend  to  aid  recovery. 

The  afternoon  was  a  stormy  one ;   the  rain  fell  in  torrents. 


THE    WARNING.  153 

and  the  atmosphere  was  close  and  heavy.  At  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening  Dr.  Rechard  and  Ilian  sent  the  other  nurses  to 
bed,  preferring  to  be  alone  with  the  sick  man,  especially  as  a 
crisis  was  expected.  They  both  knew  of  the  mysterious 
phenomenon  which  for  several  generations  surrounded  the 
Homerand  family.  This  was  manifested  when  any  of  their 
number  was  nigh  unto  death.  Adrien  had  often  spoken 
of  it,  but  could  not  account  for  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   WARNING. 


It  is  not  within  the  province  of  this  work  to  explain  any 
of  the  phenomena  that  may  be  recorded.  The  author  is  not 
taking  any  steps  that  would  lead  into  the  domain  of  the  mar- 
vellous. It  has  been  noticed  times  without  number,  that 
when  human  life  draws  near  the  border-land,  in  many  cases 
there  is  a  peculiar  influence  manifested  that  cannot  be  ac- 
counted fon  It  may  be  that,  as  the  immortal  spirit  finds 
itself  becoming  gradually  freed  from  the  limitations  of  its 
earthly  tabernacle,  it  can  receive  impressions  from  the  dawn 
of  a  new  life.  As  to  the  much-discussed  theory  of  the  power 
of  our  departed  relatives  to  aid  or  to  warn  us  in  times  of 
special  danger,  I  do  not  propose  to  discuss  it.  That  such 
things  have  taken  place  is  well  authenticated.  By  what  law 
this  is  efiected,  or  whether  these  things  are  in  accordance 
with  any  law  of  our  being,  I  am  not  prepared  to  explain. 
Neither  can  I  answer  the  question  why  they  are  the  expe- 
rience of  the  minority,  and  not  of  the  majority  of  mankind. 
There  may  come  a  time  in  the  future  history  of  our  race  when 
it  will  be  possible  for  the  living  to  hold  open  and  undis- 
puted communication  with  those  who  have  lei't  this  life.  But 
so  far  the  veil  is  too  thickly  woven  to  be  pierced  by  human 
eyes,  and  our  ears  are  too  dull  to  hear  again  the  voices  of  tlie 
former  days  from  lips  now  silent  in  the  grave.  I  hope  this 
digression  from  the  thread  of  our  narrative  will  be  a  sufficient 


154:  ILIAN. 

explanation  of  the  words  of  warning  conveyed  to  Adrien 
Homerand  which  we  are  about  to  relate. 

It  was  a  few  minutes  after  eleven  o'clock.  Adrien,  who 
had  been  in  a  stupor  fur  some  time,  suddenly  opened  his  eyes 
and  at  once  recognized  both  watchers.  In  a  very  weak  voice 
he  asked  whether  it  was  a  dream,  or  did  he  really  behold 
Ilian  and  his  college  friend,  Rechard.  He  was  assured  on  this 
point  that  it  was  reality,  and  then  it 'was  briefly  explained  to 
him  that  he  had  been  very  ill  of  yellow-fever,  and  utterly  un- 
conscious for  over  three  days,  but  that  now  everything  pointed 
to  recovery,  provided  he  was  careful  not  to  exert  himself  un- 
duly. The  next  moment  his  eyes  seemed  fixed  in  a  gaze  of 
wonder  at  some  object  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ;  then  he  turned 
them  as  though  some  one  was  coming  to  his  side.  There  was 
now  noticed  a  stillness  of  expression,  as  though  listening  to 
some  one  speaking.  A  smile  gradually  spread  over  his  i\ice, 
and  he  went  off  into  a  gentle  slumber.  By  the  next  morning 
the  fever  had  left  him,  and  Dr.  Rechard's  hopes  were 
realized.     The  patient  was  saved. 

Six  days  later  Adrien  was  seated  in  an  arm-chair.  It  was 
his  first  day  out  of  bed.  His  recuperative  powers  were  of  a 
high  order  and  his  mind  had  recovered  its  normal  condition. 
He  had  been  told  that  he  was  the  sole  occupant  of  a  small, 
furnished  house  belonging  to  Ilian.  She  had  purchased  it  a 
few  days  previous  to  his  illness  for  the  use  of  a  distant  rela- 
tive, a  widow  lady,  whose  husband  had  been  killed  in  battle, 
and  was  expected  from  South  Carolina.  The  apartment  he 
occupied  was  a  large  bedroom  looking  out  upon  a  neatly- 
trimmed  garden.  Two  servants  had  been  detailed  to  wait 
upon  him,  and  every  wish  had  been  gratified,  but  he  had  been 
forbidden  by  Dr.  Rechard  to  read  the  newspapers,  as  war 
news  might  be  detrimental  to  him.  Books,  however,  were 
furnished  in  abundance,  and  Ilian  read  to  him  every  day.  It 
was  eleven  o'clock  of  this  day  when  Ilian  came  as  usual.  He 
noticed  a  peculiar  expression  on  her  face,  and  it  was  evident 
that  she  had  come  for  some  fixed  purpose.  He  felt  a  dread 
of  coming  disaster  in  a  manner  that  he  could  not  account  for. 
She  locked  the  door  to  prevent  intrusion,  as  she  expressed  it, 
and,  drawing  a  chair  in  front  of  his,  she  greeted  him  kindly, 
but  her  manner  was  somewhat  constrained.  He  had  never 
seen  her  in  this  humor  before.     Taking  his  hand,  she  said,"  in 


THE    WARNING.  155 

a  low  voice,  while  her  blue  eyes  searched  his  face  as  though 
to  make  sure  of  the  truth  of  his  answer  to  her  questions,  and 
her  small  mouth  gave  indications  of  an  inflexible  will, — 

"  Adrien,  what  and  whom  did  you  see,  six  nights  ago,  whea 
you  returned  to  consciousness  ?" 

"  You  and  Dr.  Rechard." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  but  you  also  saw  some  one  or  some 
object  besides,  and  you  heard  some  communication." 

"  I  repeat  that  I  saw  you — at  least  your  counterpart.  I 
was  fully  aware  that  you  and  the  doctor  were  on  one  side  of 
my  bed,  when  a  form  like  yours  came  first  to  the  foot,  and 
then  to  the  other  side  from  the  place  where  you  were  sitting. 
Perhaps  it  was  your  mother,  for  she  bore  your  likeness  and 
was  a  shade  older." 

"  What  did  she  say  to  you  ?" 

Adrien  closed  his  eyes,  and  after  a  moment  replied,  without 
opening  them, — 

"  It  must  have  been  the  force  of  imagination." 

**  Tell  me  what  brought  such  an  amusing  smile  to  your 
face." 

"  I  will  do  so  if  you  press  for  an  answer ;  and  then  it  will 
be  your  turn  to  smile.  I  thought  that  this  beautiful  woman, 
who  had  your  hair  and  eyes,  but  a  very  sad  look,  as  though 
she  had  suflfered,  said  to  me,  '  Ilian  is  your  evil  star.  Beware 
of  her  ambition.  She  has  designs  upon  your  peace  and  wel- 
fiire.  Flee  from  her.'  The  absurdity  of  this  statement  made 
me  smile.  I  closed  my  eyes  and  refused  to  listen  to  any  more 
calumnies  on  you,  my  darling,  and  I  immediately  fell  into  a 
dreamless  sleep." 

Ilian,  at  this  information,  turned  deathly  pale,  and  arose 
from  her  chair,  went  to  the  open  window,  and  looked  out 
upon  the  garden.  Adrien  heard  her  say,  as  if  speaking  to 
herself,  "Is  this  a  warning?  shall  I  desist?  No,  I  cannot 
retreat.     After  all,  it  is  only  a  sick  man's  fancy." 

She  returned  to  her  chair  and  seated  herself  again  before 
him.  There  was  a  fixed  look  of  stern  determination  on  her 
face  that  made  him  feel  uncomfortable.  Slowly  but  distinctly 
she  said,  "  Adrien,  do  you  remember  the  solemn  promise  you 
made  on  the  3d  of  May  to  grant  my  request  of  a  single 
word  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  have  not  forgotten  it ;  and  you 


156  ILIAN, 

promised  to  help  me  out  of  the  dilemma  with  honor  and 
credit  to  myself." 

"  I  have  done  so ;  and  in  a  week  or  so  more,  when  you  are 
fully  recovered,  I  will  tell  you  how  it  was  accomplished,  and, 
in  fact,  the  only  way." 

A  look  of  intense  relief  and  joy  came  into  Adrien's  face, 
and,  with  tears,  he  replied,  "  Oh,  Ilian,  what  a  load  you  have 
taken  off  my  mind ;  you  have  made  me  supremely  happy." 

"  I  will  not  weary  you  to-day  with  too  many  questions,  for 
I  am  anxious  to  avoid  taxing  your  strength  too  much  ;  but  I 
will  ask  you  about  my  cousin,  KWqq  Rendeem.  In  your 
delirium  you  repeated  a  conversation  that  you  once  had  with 
her,  when  she  asked  you  what  you  thought  of  me,  and  you 
replied  that  you  preferred  Northern  brunettes  to  Southern 
blondes." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  then  as  I  do  now ;  besides,  that  was 
two  years  ago." 

"  I  doubt  very  much  whether  you  know  me  now.  I  hardly 
know  myself.  My  master-passion  is  the  love  and  devotion  I 
bear  towards  the  cause  of  the  South.  Dark  days  are  coming 
upon  her.  Vicksburg  cannot  hold  out  much  longer.  General 
Grant  has  that  place  in  a  regular  bull-dog  grip,  and  he  will 
not  let  up  for  one  moment.  When  that  falls,  the  Mississippi 
will  be  in  full  possession  of  the  Northern  forces ;  and  perhaps, 
after  all,  our  great  sacrifices  will  have  been  in  vain.  I  must 
leave  you  now  for  a  while,  and  will  come  back  this  afternoon 
and  read  to  you." 

Four  days  more  went  by  without  any  special  incident.  It 
was  early  in  the  forenoon.  Ilian  had  called  to  say  that  some 
special  business  needed  her  presence,  and  that  it  would  be 
five  in  the  evening  before  she  returned.  Shortly  after,  his 
two  servants  asked  permission  to  go  out  to  make  some  pur- 
chases, and  he  was  thus  left  alone.  He  went  down  to  the 
parlor  and  sat  in  an  easy-chair  to  read.  The  weather  was 
sultry,  and  he  fell  asleep. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  door-bell  rang,  and  that  he  went 
and  opened  it.  There  to  his  amazement,  stood  his  grandfather, 
Judge  Rathmine.  It  was  as  though  the  portrait  which  hung 
in  his  father's  drawing-room  in  Boston  had  suddenly  become 
endowed  with  life.  The  expression  on  the  face  was  a  serious 
one,  "  Adrien,"  he  said,  "leave  this  house  at  once.     Go  and 


THE    WARNING.  157 

report  yourself  to  Commodore  Morris.  The  delay  of  an  hour 
may  be  fatal  to  all  your  hopes  of  happiness.  I  obtained 
special  permission  to  come  and  warn  you,  provided  I  did  not 
attempt  in  any  way  to  interfere  with  your  free  agency.  Ilian's 
mother  gave  you  one  warning ;  I  give  you  another,  and  it  will 
be  the  last.  You  must  ask  no  questions,  for  I  cannot  answer 
them ;  farewell !" 

Adrien  tried  to  speak,  but  he  could  not  utter  a  word. 
With  a  great  effort  he  found  utterance  in  a  groan.  He  opened 
his  eyes,  and  it  was  a  dream,  for  he  was  still  in  his  chair. 
"  Only  the  effects  of  the  morphia  which  I  have  taken,"  he 
said  to  himself.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  thinking 
over  the  strange  warning.  Should  he  heed  it?  He  ought  to 
report  in  person  on  board  "of  the  "  Pensacola."  He  had  been 
told  before  this  that  Dr.  Rechard  had  reported  his  illness  in 
due  form  to  the  Commodore,  and  had  also  written  to  his 
father.  At  this  moment  he  heard  a  carriage  drive  slowly  up 
the  street.  He  went  to  the  front  door  and  opened  it.  The 
carriage  stopped,  and  the  driver  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to 
take  a  drive  ?  Here  was  the  opportunity  to  report  to  Com- 
modore Morris.  His  hat  and  coat  which  he  had  worn  at  the 
Grosvenor  House  were  in  his  bedroom.  He  now  had  on  a 
silk  wrapper,  the  gift  of  Ilian.  He  also  had  ample  funds. 
He  could  drive  to  his  own  apartment,  put  on  his  uniform, 
report  what  he  had  discovered,  stop  the  "  Emily  Sutton,"  and 
raid  the  Grosvenor  House.  This  was  his  duty,  and  he  felt 
strong  enough  to  do  it.  If  necessary,  he  could  be  back  long 
before  Ilian  was  expected.  But  would  this  be  the  proper 
way?  Would  it  be  a  manly  course  to  sneak  out  of  her  house 
as  though  he  was  afraid  of  her?  Was  she  not  his  affianced 
wife?  Might  not  such  a  proceeding  show  a  want  of  confi- 
dence? He  resolved  that  he  would  notify  her,  and  on 
the  morrow  would  leave  and  report  himself  to  Commo- 
dore Morris.  He  answered  the  driver  that  some  other  day 
he  might  accept  his  offer,  but  not  now.  The  door  was 
closed.  He  went  back  to  his  chair  and  took  up  his  book,  but 
he  could  not  read.  The  warning  was  vivid  before  him. 
Once  more  he  fell  asleep,  and  was  awakened  by  one  of  his 
servants,  who  stood  before  him  with  a  large  tray  of  refresh- 
ments. It  was  now  two  o'clock.  The  afternoon  glided  away, 
and  he  looked  for  the  return   of  Ilian.     How  bitterly  he 

14 


158  ILIAN. 

repented  afterwards  that  he  did  not  heed  this  counsel  of  his 
grandfather  so  mysteriously  given.  But  how  was  it  possible 
that  the  judge,  who  had  been  in  his  grave  twenty-two  years, 
could  come  back  ?  Did  he  do  so  ?  Was  it  not  a  phantom 
of  dreamland,  a  mere  coincidence?  Things  just  happen  so. 
Some  persons  explain  it  in  that  way. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

COERCION. 


Precisely  at  five  o'clock  Ilian  drove  up  in  her  carriage. 
Adrien  met  her  at  the  door,  and  they  went  into  the  parlor 
together.  At  first  he  thought  of  telling  her  the  dream,  but 
decided  not  to  do  so.  He  informed  her,  however,  that  he 
purposed  to  report  for  duty  to  Commodore  Morris  on  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

"  Impossible  !"  was  her  reply ;  "  Dr.  Rechard  tells  me  that 
it  will  not  be  prudent  for  you  to  go  on  duty  for  at  least  two 
weeks,  and  advises  that  you  go  into  the  country.  I  have  a 
house  vacant  on  Lake  Pontchartrain,  and  we  will  take  you 
there  to-morrow.  The  commodore  does  not  want  you  to 
come  on  board  till  all  danger  of  contagion  from  the  fever  is 
passed.  Dr.  Eechard  called  upon  him  a  few  days  ago  about 
your  afi'airs,  and  he  was  very  uneasy,  being  afraid  that  the 
doctor  might  have  the  contagion  of  the  fever  in  his  clothes. 
No,  I  am  satisfied  that  if  you  went  on  board  the  *  Pensacola' 
now,  they  would  be  terribly  frightened.  Two  or  three  weeks 
will  give  you  time  to  recuperate." 

"  The  naval  law  compels  me  to  have  a  sick-leave  officially 
signed.  I  cannot  leave  the  limits  of  the  city  without  it.  I 
will  go  to  my  apartment  to-morrow,  and  will  report  by  special 
messenger." 

"  Adrien,  I  am  in  great  trouble  and  need  your  help." 
"  Command  my  services.     I  owe  you  my  life." 
"  What  would  be  the  use  ?     I  have  asked  several  favors  of 
you,  and  you  have  declined,  even  when  you  had  solemnly 
promised  to  do  what  I  asked  you." 


COERCION.  159 

"  Has  not  that  matter  been  settled  ?" 

"  No  ;  for  you  may  decline  the  compromise." 

"  Do  not  fear  on  that  point ;  I  will  take  an  oath  on  it." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want  you  to  do.  First,  let  me  say 
that  I  did  not  think  you  would  condescend  to  play  the  spy, 
and  worm  yourself  into  the  confidence  of  Bill  Harrison.  If 
I  had  known  that  you  were  going  there  the  day  that  you  left 
me,  I  would  have  taken  steps  to  prevent  it." 

"  All  is  fair  in  war  as  in  love." 

"  Is  it  ?  Perhaps  you  would  not  think  so  if  it  were  applied 
to  you.  I  heard  from  Harrison  of  the  great  acquisition  he 
secured  in  a  man  to  command  the  '  Emily  Sutton,'  but  I  never 
for  a  moment  suspected  that  you  were  the  individual." 

"  What  was  wrong  in  my  action  ?  I  had  been  detailed  by 
Commodore  Morris  to  find  out  who  were  connected  with 
blockade-running.  I  followed  out  my  instructions,  and  will 
send  my  report  to  him  with  full  details  to-morrow." 

"  Are  you  fully  decided  on  this  course  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  such  are  my  instractions." 

"  Then,  Captain  Andrew  MacKenzie,  as  you  called  your- 
self, allow  me  to  say  that  no  such  information  as  you  propose 
will  be  given  by  you  to  Commodore  Morris,  or  to  any  other 
Yankee  officer.  I  must  bring  matters  to  a  crisis  sooner  than 
I  expected." 

"  Who  will  prevent  it,  I  would  like  to  know  ?" 

"  I  will,  by  every  means  in  my  power." 

"  Will  you  have  me  fail  in  my  duty  to  my  country,  and 
render  myself  liable  to  court-martial  ?" 

"  What  do  you  call  your  country  ?" 

"  The  Union  government  in  general ;  Massachusetts  in  par- 
ticular." 

"  You  were  born  in  England." 

"  True ;  but,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  my  ancestors  for 
several  generations  were  born  near  Boston ;  besides,  I  have 
sworn  to  uphold  the  Federal  constitution,  and  my  oath  must 
be  kept  at  all  hazards." 

"  Well,  so  have  I  taken  a  solemn  vow  to  uphold  the  South- 
ern cause,  and  mean  to  keep  my  oath.  Now  answer  me,  did 
you  not  purpose  to  deliver  the  '  Emily  Sutton,'  with  her  two 
mates  and  crew  and  all  her  valuable  cargo,  into  the  hands  of 
the  Union  authorities  to  be  adjudged  a  prize?" 


160  ILIAN. 

"  Yes,  that  was  my  intention,  and  I  will  ask  for  a  prize- 
crew  to-morrow,  and  go  myself  and  bring  her  to  anchor  along- 
side of  the  flag-ship  '  Pensacola,'  and  also  investigate  the 
contents  of  the  cellar  of  the  Grosvenor  House." 

"  Perhaps  under  proper  persuasion  you  will  do  nothing  of 
the  kind,  or  in  any  way  disturb  the  traffic  and  business  of  Bill 
Harrison.  As  for  the  '  Emily  Sutton,'  it  may  interest  you  to 
know  that  I  have  received  word  this  morning  that  she  arrived 
safely  in  Mobile,  and  will  be  out  again  in  a  few  days  with 
cotton  for  Havana.  As  for  Harrison  himself,  perhaps  the  next 
time  you  meet  him  it  will  be  to  hail  him  as  a  comrade  in  arms, 
as  the  business  carried  on  here  has  been  removed  to  other 
quarters.  Captain  Harrison  has  received  his  commission  from 
Richmond  to  command  a  company  of  English  volunteers,  and 
will  report  to  Colonel  Ormond  at  Mobile  for  duty  with  his 
regiment." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  Are  you  losing  your 
senses  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  mean  what  I  say.  Let  me  ask  you  another 
question.  Are  you  aware  what  would  have  been  your  fate  if 
your  identity  had  been  discovered  by  Harrison,  and  all  your 
treacherous  intentions  become  known  to  him?" 

"  Why  do  you  use  that  word  ?  I  was  there  in  the  legiti- 
mate discharge  of  my  duties." 

"  Please  answer  my  question." 

"  W^ell,  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  my  command  of 
that  schooner  for  Harrison  &  Co.'s  interest.  A  few  hard  words 
would  have  followed,  and  I  would  have  returned  at  once  with 
a  prize-crew  from  the '  Pensacola,'  and  those  triple-department 
casks  and  their  valuable  contents  would  have  gone  north  instead 
of  south." 

"  What  a  nice  programme  you  have  drawn.  Now  let  me 
give  one  not  quite  so  rosy.  In  less  than  twenty  minutes 
after  it  had  become  known  that  the  so-called  Captain  Andrew 
MacKenzie,  of  Manchester,  England,  the  famous  blockade- 
runner,  was  no  other  than  the  distinguished  Acting  Master 
Adrien  Homerand,  of  the  Federal  navy,  you  would  have  been 
at  the  bottom  of  the  Mississippi  with  a  dagger  in  your  heart  and 
a  rope  heavily  weighted  around  your  neck.  Indeed,  the  very 
morning  that  you  were  taken  ill  Harrison  received  word  that 
an  officer  of  the  Union  navy  had  been  detailed  to  investi- 


COERCIOX.  161 

gate  his  business.  I  will  further  inform  you  that  at  the  very 
moment  when  I  received  your  note  stating  you  were  ill,  a  coun- 
sel of  war  was  sitting,  and  had  resolved  to  demand  satisfactory 
references  from  you.  Harrison  vouched  for  your  being  a  full- 
blooded  Englishman,  and  scorned  the  suggestion  that  you  were 
a  Yankee  spy.  I  did  not  recognize  your  writing,  as  your  hand 
must  liave  been  unsteady  from  illness ;  and  it  was  only  when 
I  was  privately  questioning  Sam  that  it  suddenly  flashed  upon 
me  that  Captain  MacKenzie  and  you  were  the  same  person.  I 
caused  you  to  be  removed  to  this  house  at  once,  thereby  saving 
you  from  vengeance.  Dr.  Rechard  will  tell  you  that  it  was 
the  nursing  which  you  received  here  that  kept  you  alive ;  so 
that  twice  I  saved  your  life,  once  forfeited  as  a  spy,  and  again 
as  a  victim  to  the  fever." 

"  Ilian,  I  acknowledge  my  gratitude,  and  my  whole  life  will 
be  devoted  to  your  service." 

"  I  do  not  credit  that  statement.  If  I  were  to  ask  a  single 
proof  I  would  not  get  it." 

"  How  can  you  thus  doubt  my  love  and  devotion  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  all  in  promises,  and  not  in  deeds.  Have 
you  forgotten  that  you  forfeited  your  solemn  pledge  to  grant 
me  a  request  of  a  single  word?" 

"  Thut  one  word  meant  the  forfeiture  of  my  honor  and  all 
that  I  hold  sacred." 

"  Nonsense  ;  this  is  all  moonshine." 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  told  me  that  you  had  a  compromise 
that  would  solve  the  problem  of  how  to  keep  my  word  and  yet 
not  resign." 

"I  did  ;  and  I  now  repeat  that  my  request  of  one  word  can 
be  granted,  and  yet  you  need  not  resign." 

"  I  am  curious  to  know  how." 

"  It  is  easy  enough.  I  will  waive  my  claim  to  your  resig- 
nation for  the  compromise  I  mention." 

"  Oh,  what  a  load  you  have  taken  off  my  heart.  I  love  you 
now  with  a  thousand-fold  more  fervor  than  I  ever  did  before." 

"  How  long  will  that  fervor  last?" 

"  Till  death  shall  separate  us." 

*'  The  substitute  of  my  claim  to  your  resignation  is  a  simple 
one ;  and  all  your  honor  and  past  service  will  be  saved,  and 
your  war  record  remain  untarnished  on  the  books  of  the  Navy 
Department." 

I  14* 


162  ILIAN. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is,  and  I  will  cheerfully  comply  with  it." 
"  I  must  have  a  stronger  word  as  a  guarantee  than  '  cheer- 

''  What  can  I  give  you  ?" 

"  You  failed  me  once  in  a  solemn  promise ;  now  I  want  a 
binding  obligation  that  you  will  not  dare  to  break." 

"  If  I  am  not  to  be  called  upon  to  resign,  why  all  this  for- 
mality ?" 

"  Because  great  interests  are  at  stake.  In  return  for  twice 
saving  your  life,  and  giving  up  my  just  claim  to  your  resig- 
nation from  the  naval  service  of  the  North,  do  you  solemnly 
promise  and  swear  before  your  Maker  that  you  will  accept  the 
substitute  and  fulfil  the  compromise  ?" 

"  I  cannot  take  that  oath  till  I  know  the  tenor  of  your 
request.  You  surely  do  not  ask  me  to  walk  blindfolded  into 
any  snare  which  would  involve  my  peace  of  mind  and  ship- 
wreck all  that  I  hold  dear  in  life." 

"  No  ;  I  will  not  ask  you  to  walk  blindfolded.  I  will  state 
my  request  in  advance,  and  then  you  must  take  the  oath  that 
I  have  demanded." 

"  '  Must^'  did  you  say  ?     Is  not  that  a  dictatorial  word  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  repeat  it,  must !     Now  for  my  ultimatum." 

"  Ultimatum  !     Am  I  dreaming  ?" 

"  No ;  you  are  wide  awake  and  in  full  possession  of  your 
faculties  ;  but  listen.  You  have  of  your  own  free  choice 
assumed  the  name  of  '  Captain  Andrew  MacKenzie,'  a  friend 
of  the  South  ;  therefore,  under  that  name  you  must  enter  our 
service  and  take  a  solemn  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Confed- 
erate cause.  I  have  procured  you  the  command  of  a  company 
of  artillery  in  the  regiment  of  Colonel  Ormond,  and  in  two 
weeks  I  expect  to  see  you  under  the  gray,  drilling  your  men 
at  Mobile." 

"  Ilian,  have  you  gone  mad?" 

"  No ;  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  my  reason  is 
upon  her  pedestal  and  my  judgment  upon  her  throne." 

"  How  can  you  reconcile  this  preposterous  request  with 
your  assertion  that  you  waive  my  fatal  obligation  to  resign  ? 
My  God  !  do  you  want  to  brand  me  as  a  deserter  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  You  do  not  understand  your  present  relations 
to  the  Federal  navy." 

"  You  speak  in  enigmas." 


COERCION.  163 

"  Then  I  will  solve  them.  Ten  nights  ago  three  physicians 
gave  up  all  hopes  of  your  surviving  for  more  than  a  few 
hours ;  in  fact,  you  were  virtually  a  dead  man.  Therefore 
the  next  morning,  at  my  request,  Dr.  Rechard  oflBcially  noti- 
fied Commodore  Morris  that  you  had  died  of  black  vomit, 
and  had  been  buried  at  daylight.  An  unknown  man  who 
had  died  of  this  disease  in  one  of  the  small  hotels  of  the 
city,  and  who  was  attended  by  a  friend  of  Dr.  Rechard's, 
gave  us  the  opportunity  to  procure  a  body,  and  it  was  buried 
under  your  name.  A  kind  letter  of  sympathy  was  also  writ- 
ten to  your  father.  Word  was  sent  to  your  late  ship  on  the 
blockade.  The  newspapers  have  printed  your  obituary.  Now 
do  you  understand  that  Acting  Master  Adrien  Homerand  is 
dead  and  buried  ?  A  tombstone  of  white  marble  was  this 
morning  placed  over  his  grave.  I  have  announced  to  my 
friends  that  I  am  not  at  home.  To-morrow  Dr.  Rechard  will 
come  with  us  to  the  house  that  I  have  mentioned,  by  Lake 
Pontchartrain,  till  you  are  able  to  join  your  regiment." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  help  me  !"  was  the  exclamation  of  the  as- 
tounded man.  "  My  loving  father  and  my  fond  mother  ! 
how  can  they  bear  the  awful  news?  It  will  break  their 
hearts." 

"  Thousands  of  other  parents,  both  in  the  North  and  South, 
are  weeping  for  sons  as  well-beloved  as  you  are." 

"  How  was  it  possible  that  you  could  be  so  cruel  ?" 

"  Did  you  not  remark  a  little  while  ago  that  all  was  fjiir  in 
war  as  in  love?  I  did  this  to  save  your  life.  You  are 
strongly  suspected  of  being  a  spy  possessed  of  important 
secrets  about  blockade-running.  The  secret  service  of  the 
Confederate  government,  who  have  a  branch  in  this  city, 
informed  me  at  noon  that  a  strict  watch  would  be  placed  on 
this  house ;  and  at  two  o'clock  their  men  were  guarding  it 
with  orders  to  kill  y.ou  instantly  if  you  should  attempt  to 
leave  before  your  identity  was  fully  established.  Harrison 
pledged  his  life  as  security  that  you  were  what  you  assumed 
to  be.  I  also  gave  a  guarantee  to  that  effect,  and  that  you 
would  take  command  of  a  company  in  Colonel  Ormond's 
regiment.  Only  that  will  satisfy  them.  Do  you  now  swear 
to  accept  the  compromise  and  serve  the  South  ?" 

"  I  cannot  do  it  ;  I  will  die  first." 

Ilian  remained  cool,  calm,  and  collected.     She  took  from 


164  ILIAN. 

lier  hair  what  appeared  to  be  a  larjre  hair-pin  with  a  cross 
handle,  drawing  from  its  sheath  a  fine  dagger  with  a  blade 
five  inches  long,  which  looked  like  a  darning-needle.  She 
placed  its  keen  point  to  Adrien's  throat,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  that  carried  a  conviction  of  her  purpose, — 

"  I  love  you  better  than  any  other  mortal  being,  but  I  love 
the  Southern  cause  more  ;  and  for  that  I  would  sacrifice  my 
life  and  yours.  Harrison's  life  is  now  a  hostage  for  your  oath 
of  fidelity,  and  your  silence  on  the  points  that  you  have 
gained  must  be  secured.  Swear,  therefore,  to  comply  with  all 
I  have  demanded,  or  I  will  claim  the  forfeit  of  the  life  which 
I  have  twice  saved." 

Adrien  was  still  weak  from  the  fever.  For  a  moment  he 
hesitated.  The  point  of  the  blade  entered  the  skin  ;  the 
steel  was  cold.  The  animal  instinct  of  life  overpowered  all 
other  considerations.  Slowly  he  uttered  the  words,  "  / 
solemnly  swear  to  do  as  you  hid  me." 

Then  he  became  unconscious. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

UNDER   THE    GRAY. 


Three  days  after  the  closing  scene  in  the  last  chapter 
Adrien  had  suinciently  recovered  to  be  able  to  leave  for  Lake 
Pontchartrain  with  Dr.  Rechard  and  several  servants.  Ilian 
and  her  maid  joined  them  two  days  afterwards. 

When  she  saw  her  lover  become  totally  unconscious,  after 
taking  the  oath  required  of  him,  she  was  in  an  agony  of 
remorse,  lest  the  coercion  had  killed  him.  Several  hours  had 
passed  before  his  symptoms  yielded  to  Dr.  Rechard's  treat- 
ment. His  memory  was  partly  aifected,  and  for  fully  a  week 
the  past  was  almost  a  blank.  The  quiet  rest  by  the  lake-side 
gradually  restored  him,  but  he  manifested  a  great  reserve 
toward  Ilian.  It  was  hoped  that  in  time  this  would  wear 
away. 

On  the  15th  of  July  he  and  Dr.  Rechard  left  for  Mobile. 
He  found  his  commission  as  captain  of  artillery  awaiting  him  ; 


UNDER   THE   GRAY.  165 

and  the  doctor  also  accepted  an  appointment  as  surgeon  to  the 
regiment  of  Colonel  Ormond,  to  whom  Adrien  was  ordered  to 
report  for  duty  under  his  command.  He  was  then  holding  a 
strong  position  near  the  city  of  Mobile.  The  colonel  gave  a 
very  hearty  greeting  to  the  new-comer.  Dr.  Rechard  ex- 
plained that  Captain  MacKenzie  had  served  for  several  years 
as  a  junior  officer  in  the  navy  of  his  country  and  was  pro- 
ficient in  the  drilling  of  men  and  handling  of  batteries.  The 
inference  of  course  was  that  meant  the  English  naval  service. 
Dr.  Rechard  was  not  willing  to  depart  from  the  truth,  and 
only  his  love  for  the  South  and  his  foith  in  the  wisdom  of 
Ilian's  course  of  action  induced  him  to  aid  in  the  deception 
practised.  She  had  exacted  a  solemu  promise  from  him  that 
he  would  serve  with  his  college  I'riend  in  all  his  campaigns, 
and  herself  promised  to  render  all  needful  assistance.  She 
had  returned  to  New  Orleans,  but  was  expected  shortly  in 
Mobile.  ^ 

Young  as  she  was,  her  influence  was  widely  felt  through  the 
Southern  States.  Having  both  talent  and  money,  she  soon 
became  an  important  auxiliary  in  the  war.  Her  specialty  was 
the  secret  service  of  the  Confederate  government.  She  had 
been  seeking  to  control  the  Southern  branch  of  this  important 
service.  The  official  at  the  head  of  it  in  New  Orleans  was 
one  of  that  class  of  men  who  have  no  faith  in  woman's  power 
to  hold  secrets,  and  he  worked  against  her. 

On  the  10th  of  July  her  wish  was  granted.  The  whole 
Southern  department  of  the  secret  service  was  placed  in  her 
sole  charge. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  feelings  of  Adrien 
■when,  dressed  in  the  gray  uniform  of  the  Confederacy,  he  took 
charge  of  his  company  of  artillery  and  gave  his  first  orders 
of  command.  None  of  his  old  friends  would  have  recognized 
him.  His  beard,  which  he  had  formerly  worn  full,  was  now 
trimmed  to  the  regulation  English  side-whiskers.  This  altered 
his  appearance  very  much.  His  cheerful  gayety  of  manner 
liad  left  him.  He  was  still  kiud  and  courteous,  but  had  a  sad 
and  wandering  look,  that  left  the  impression  on  the  beholder 
that  he  was  not  quite  sure  of  his  own  identity.  This  was 
attributed  to  the  fever  and  the  fact  that  he  had  not  been 
acclimated. 

At  times,  indeed,  he  was  not  sure  of  who  he  really  was.     It 


166  ILIAN. 

was  like  a  dream.  He  brooded  so  much  over  his  change  of 
position  that  at  last  he  came  to  accept  the  fact  that,  durino:  the 
fourth  night  of  the  fever,  the  spirit  of  Adrien  Homerand  had 
left  its  bodily  tabernacle,  and  another,  that  was  called  Andrew 
MacKenzie,  had  entered  the  vacant  mansion  with  its  cultivated 
mental  faculties.  This  being  the  case,  there  was  no  treason 
in  the  new-comer  serving  the  South.  This  solution  of  the 
cause  of  the  change  of  his  condition  was  fostered  by  Dr. 
Rechard,  and  also  by  Ilian,who  came  to  Mobile  a  week  later. 
She  was  not  long  in  finding  out  that  the  deep  love  and  devotion 
once  exhibited  by  iVdrien  was  not  manifested  by  Captain  Mac- 
Kenzie. His  eyes  never  more  sparkled  with  joy  at  her  ap- 
proach ;  the  voice  that  had  so  often  brought  music  to  her  soul 
was  no  longer  that  of  the  former  days.  Even  the  footsteps 
were  changed.  In  the  privacy  of  her  own  room  she  shed 
bitter  tears  as  the  conviction  was  slowly  but  surely  forced  upon 
her  that  in  the  hour  when  she  had  coerced  her  lover  into 
taking  a  position  so  utterly  at  variance  with  his  principles  of 
honor  and  duty,  that  same  hour  he  had  substantially  died,  and 
that  this  was  a  being  with  the  old  form,  but  a  strange  tenant 
had  taken  possession  of  it.  Would  he,  the  Adrien  of  the  olden 
time,  ever  return  ?  It  was  now  she  knew  how  deep  had  been 
her  love.  Day  by  day  its  force  increased,  but  he  remained  the 
same.  Nor  was  this  all,  Dr.  Rechard  informed  her  that  there 
was  great  danger  that  his  personal  identity  might  be  revealed 
if  she  was  heard  to  call  him  by  that  name  that  was  woven  in 
all  the  fibres  of  her  heart.  There  were  many  of  his  college- 
mates  in  the  Southern  army,  and  the  name  of  Adrien  was  so 
peculiarly  the  property  of  the  son  of  Boston's  great  professor, 
that  unpleasant  inquiries  would  be  set  on  foot.  "  Above  all," 
continued  the  doctor,  "we  must  be  careful  of  Tom  Jefibrds, 
who  is  captain  of  a  battery  in  a  South  Carolina  regiment  lately 
come  into  this  neighborhood.  This  fellow  was  very  intimate 
with  Adrien  at  college.  He  is  a  born  detective,  and  if  he 
should  discover  this,  his  silence  would  be  a  costly  purchase ; 
therefore,  for  the  credit  and  safety  of  all  concerned,  the  name 
of  Adrien  must  remain  in  the  grave  where  his  friends  suppose 
that  he  was  buried." 

This  was  the  keenest  pang  of  all.  How  could  she  substitute 
the  name  of  Andrew  for  one  that  had  so  often  thrilled  her 
with  delight  ?     Yet  even  this  would  have  been  endurable  if 


PENSACOLA   NAVY- YARD.  167 

there  had  been  any  response  from  the  man  whom  she  had  won 
for  the  Confederate  cause,  who  was  now  lost  to  her  as  a  lover. 

For  the  present,  therefore,  the  name  of  Adrien  must  lie  in 
abeyance,  and  we  will  follow  the  fortune  of  Andrew  MacKenzie 
under  the  gray  uniform  of  the  South. 

Many  readers  will  condemn  in  unsparing  terms  the  conduct 
of  Ilian,  and  assert  that  she  was  cruel,  and  perhaps  use  even 
harsher  terms.  Before  a  judgment  is  rendered  as  to  her  action, 
it  will  be  best  to  wait  until  all  of  the  facts  in  the  case  are  pre- 
sented. It  is  a  difficult  task  at  this  late  day,  so  ftir  removed 
from  the  times  of  the  civil  war,  to  explain  the  intense  patriotism 
of  the  Southern  women  to  the  cause  which  they  had  espoused 
with  so  much  zeal  and  fervor.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that 
long  after  the  men  were  convinced  of  the  hopelessness  of  the 
contest  against  the  almost  unlimited  resources  of  the  Northern 
States,  the  women  would  not  listen  to  any  compromise  short 
of  actual  indepeodence ;  and  they  endured  terrible  privations 
and  made  heroic  sacrifices,  that  have  never  been  emblazoned 
on  the  pages  of  the  history  of  the  greatest  civil  war  that  ever 
occurred  for  many  generations.  Ilian  gave  her  money,  her  time, 
and  she  would  have  given  her  life  if  necessary  to  have  won 
the  independence  for  which  they  were  fighting. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

PENSACOLA  NAVY- YARD. 

We  now  turn  to  the  baptism  of  fire  that  was  to  inaugurate 
the  new  departure  of  the  son  of  Professor  Homerand.  We 
can  speak  of  his  deeds ;  but  the  agony  of  his  soul  is  beyond 
the  power  of  our  pen  to  depict. 

In  the  month  of  August,  1863,  General  G.  T.  Beauregard, 
commanding  the  Confederate  military  forces  of  South  Carolina, 
Georgia,  and  Florida,  determined  upon  a  raid  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  stores  in  the  Pensacola  Navy- Yard.  He  had  been 
informed  that  about  a  million  dollars'  worth  were  accumulated 
there,  and  perceived  at  once  that  their  loss  would  be  severely 
felt  by  the  blockading  fleet.     Colonel  Ormond  was  ordered 


168  ILIAN. 

accordingly  to  send  a  company  of  artillery  to  report  to  the 
general  commanding  the  raiding  forces.  When  assembled 
they  numbered  four  hundred  cavalry  and  four  hundred  in- 
fantry, and  a  battery  of  field-pieces  under  Captain  Andrew 
MacKenzie.  The  only  difficulty  anticipated  was  in  crossing 
the  mouth  of  a  narrow  bayou  not  more  than  three  feet  deep. 
Then  came  a  short  stretch  of  sandy  beach  leading  into  a 
wooded  tract  two  miles  in  length,  at  the  end  of  which  was  one 
of  the  navy-yard  gates.  The  wall  of  the  yard  continued  into 
the  water  of  the  bay,  but  this  was  an  easy  matter  to  ford. 
The  only  defence  of  this  gate  was  a  twelve-pounder  howitzer 
and  a  marine  guard  of  fifty  men  under  the  command  of  Cap- 
tain George  W.  Collier.  There  were  also  a  number  of  war- 
ships at  anchor  off  the  yard ;  a  single  gun-schooner,  the 
"  Maria  A.  Wood,"  with  a  battery  of  two  long  thirty-two- 
pounders  and  one  pivot  twenty-four-pounder,  constituted  the 
sole  protection  of  the  mouth  of  the  bayou  and  the  sand-beach. 
There  was  a  picket  guard  of  colored  troops  along  the  bayou, 
but  persons  continually  passed  and  repassed. 

The  general  commanding  the  Confederate  raiding  force  was 
well  acquainted  with  all  of  the  details  of  the  defences  of  the 
yard.  On  a  cool  September  morning  he  arrived  at  the  eas^ 
cm  edge  of  the  mouth  of  the  bayou.  The  thick  woods  at 
this  point  prevented  his  presence  there  from  being  known  to 
the  Federal  forces.  It  hud  been  previously  arranged  that  as 
soon  as  darkness  set  in  the  cavalry  should  silently  cross  the 
bayou  and  dash  on  through  the  woods,  and  some  should  ford 
the  water  round  the  walls,  open  the  eastern  gate  for  the  rest  to 
enter,  and  then  set  fire  to  all  the  buildings  and  storehouses. 
They  felt  confident  that  the  gun-boats  would  not  fire  on  them, 
as  the  hospital  was  full  of  patients  with  yellow-fever:  and 
long  before  they  could  be  removed  to  a  place  of  safety  the 
work  of  destroying  the  stores  would  be  accomplished.  Strict 
orders  were  given  that  the  hospital  was  not  to  be  molested  in 
any  way.  The  infantry  were  directed  to  capture  the  few 
pickets  along  the  bayou,  and  hold  it  against  any  superior  force 
from  Fort  Barancas.  The  battery  of  artillery  was  to  sink  the 
"  Maria  A.  Wood,"  this  being  the  only  vessel  that  was 
reported  to  them  as  being  there.  But  two  days  previous,  in 
answer  to  the  representations  of  the  executive  officer  of  the 
gun-schooner,  a  mortar-schooner  had  been  sent  up  from  the 


PENSACOLA   NAVY-YARD.  1G9 

navy-yard  to  assist  in  guarding  the  mouth  of  the  bayou.  This 
additional  vessel  was  a  serious  obstacle  to  the  well-planned  raid. 
Captain  MacKeuzie  informed  his  general  that  he  felt  confident 
that  he  could  sink  or  disable  one  of  the  schooners,  but  that  to 
eno;age  two  of  them  was  a  serious  risk,  especially  as  the 
"  Maria  A.  Wood"  was  a  vessel  of  five  hundred  tons,  and  well 
manned  and  drilled.  He  also  told  him  that  unless  the  vessels 
were  sunk  or  driven  off  very  few  of  the  cavalry  would  return 
alive  through  the  sweeping  fire  of  grape  and  canister  which 
both  vessels  could  concentrate  on  the  beach  and  waters  of  the 
bayou. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  executive  officer  of  the  mortar-schooner, 
not  dreaming  of  any  hostile  force  being  so  near,  took  a  small 
boat,  with  only  the  captain's  steward,  to  hunt  for  wild  turkeys, 
which  were  plentiful  in  that  locality.  Both  were  captured 
before  an  alarm  could  be  given  of  the  presence  of  the  enemy. 
The  statement  of  the  officer  that  the  vessels  could  concentrate 
six  heavy  guns  on  the  beach  besides  the  destructive  thirteen- 
inch  mortar  was  not  encouraging  to  the  Confederates.  Never- 
theless the  general  determined  to  make  the  attack  that  same 
night.  Captain  MacKenzie  had  learned  that  his  old  friend, 
formerly  the  acting  ensign  of  the  "  Tennessee,"  was  the  execu- 
tive officer  of  the  "  Maria  A.  Wood."  Upon  receiving  this 
information,  he  was  greatly  perplexed.  He  felt  that  he  could 
not  fire  on  her.  He  also  knew  the  destructive  power  of 
the  long  thirty-two  pounders  at  close  quarters.  They  were 
only  a  thousand  yards  off,  and  his  battery  of  six  pieces  con- 
sisted of  only  twelve-pounders.  He  urged  the  necessity  of 
sending  for  reinforcements.  A  council  of  war  was  held,  and 
finally  decided  that  this  was  the  best  course.  So  they  went 
into  camp  twenty-five  miles  from  the  bayou.  Captain  Mac- 
Kenzie volunteered  to  stay  behind  and  intercept  any  crew  that 
might  be  sent  for  the  captured  officer.  Fifty  men  from  one 
of  the  infantry  companies  were  placed  under  his  orders  for  that 
purpose. 

When  night  came  on  they  concealed  themselves  in  ambush 
close  to  the  landing-place,  and  their  watching  was  rewarded 
about  eight  o'clock  by  hearing  the  regular  stroke  of  the  oars 
of  a  man-of-war  boat,  which  came  to  the  beach  close  by  the 
place  where  they  lay.  Both  of  the  gun-boats  had  their  crews 
at  quarters,  and  were  ready  for  aclioa.  Captain  MacKenzie 
H  15 


170  ILIAN. 

counted  eighteen  men  besides  the  officer  in  the  boat.  It  was 
his  intention  to  rush  in  as  soon  as  they  had  landed,  kill  the 
officer,  and  make  the  men  prisoners.  He  believed  that  the 
schooners  would  not  fire  on  their  own  men.  But  the  officer 
of  the  boat  had  received  strict  orders  not  to  land.  He  was 
directed  to  hail  the  beach,  and,  if  no  answer  was  returned,  to 
come  back  and  wait  for  daylight.  As  soon  as  his  voice  rang 
out  on  the  night  air.  Captain  MacKenzie  recognized  it  as  that 
of  his  old  friend  of  the  "  Tennessee,"  now  the  executive  of  the 
"  Maria  A.  Wood."  How  he  longed  to  be  able  to  speak 
with  him,  to  make  a  confidant  of  him,  and  tell  him  how  he 
had  been  compelled  to  take  a  solemn  oath  to  remain  in  the 
Confederate  service  till  the  war  was  over.  This,  however,  was 
impossible,  unless  he  could  make  him  a  prisoner.  The  sound 
of  that  voice  re-echoing  among  the  trees  brought  back  in  vivid 
force  the  consciousness  of  his  former  position.  It  acted  like  a 
magic  wand  to  dispel  the  cloud  that  hung  over  his  mind. 
His  men  urged  him  to  give  the  order  to  fire  on  the  Yankee 
officer  standing  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  his  body  clearly 
defined  by  the  starlight.  He  was  a  splendid  target,  and  a 
score  of  rifles  were  drawn  on  him.  It  was  a  terrible  moment 
for  the  Confederate  captain.  How  could  he  give  the  order  to 
shoot  the  man  whose  life  he  had  once  saved,  and  whom  he 
valued  as  a  true  friend  ?  No ;  he  would  not  do  it.  He 
whispered  to  his  men  that  he  would  brain  the  first  man  who 
dared  to  fire  without  orders.  Half  of  his  command  were  al- 
ready creeping  down  with  bayonets  fixed,  hoping  to  carry  the 
boat  and  the  crew  by  storm.  To  have  peremptorily  ordered 
them  back  would  have  disclosed  the  ambush.  A  moment 
afterward,  however,  the  boat  pushed  ofi"  from  the  beach  and 
returned  to  the  vessel. 

Captain  MacKenzie  was  too  strict  a  disciplinarian  to  allow 
the  violation  of  his  orders  to  pass  unnoticed.  On  reaching 
the  encampment  the  guilty  ones  were  severely  punished,  and 
it  was  soon  made  known  that  the  English  captain  was  not  a 
man  to  be  trifled  with. 

The  next  day  news  reached  Fort  Barancas  of  the  close 
proximity  of  a  large  body  of  the  Confederates,  and  a  strong 
force  was  immediately  posted  on  the  west  side  of  the  bayou. 
Notice  was  sent  to  the  gun-boats  to  that  efi"ect.  They  opened 
fire  and  shelled  the  woods.     The  contemplated  raid,  however, 


AMBITION  FOILED.  171 

was  made  that  night.  The  general  commanding  the  raiding 
forces  determined  to  make  an  efiFort  to  storm  the  navy-yard. 
Captain  MacKenzie  was  sent  with  his  battery  to  hold  in  check 
the  troops  from  Barancas,  and  was  assisted  by  two  hundred 
infantry,  while  the  remainder  were  to  hold  the  mouth  of  the 
bayou.  On  reaching  that  point,  however,  it  was  discovered 
that  two  steam  gun-boats  had  been  sent  up  from  the  lower 
station.  The  Federal  picket  gave  the  warning  signal,  and  the 
fierce  bombardment  of  the  four  vessels  convinced  the  raiding- 
party  that  the  favorable  opportunity  was  gone.  Before  they 
reached  a  place  of  safety  a  number  of  men  were  killed  and 
wounded  by  the  far-reaching  shells.  The  retreat  was  nobly 
covered  from  the  pursuing  Union  troops  by  Captain  Mac- 
Kenzie, who  stood  the  brunt  of  the  battle.  Thus  ended  the 
great  raid,  which,  if  carried  out  a  week  earlier,  might  have 
been  successful.  The  destruction  of  the  navy-yard  and  its 
valuable  stores  would  have  been  an  important  factor  in  pro- 
longing the  war,  and,  perhaps,  in  obtaining  the  longed-for 
recognition  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  by  France,  as 
much  would  have  been  made  of  it.  Captain  *  MacKenzie 
returned  with  his  battery  to  Mobile,  and  was  warmly  greet'cd 
by  Colonel  Ormond  and  the  other  officers  of  his  regiment. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AMBITION    FOILED. 


Ilian  kept  herself  well  informed  of  the  movements  of  her 
lover.  A  dread  had  taken  possession  of  her,  lest  he  should 
be  killed  in  some  action  with  the  Federal  forces.  This  would 
have  been  a  disaster  that  would  have  crushed  her.  On  his 
return  to  Mobile  she  received  a  letter  from  Dr.  Rechard  that 
gave  her  a  detailed  description  of  their  expedition,  and  also 
the  indifference  to  danger  manifested  by  Captain  MacKenzie. 
When  his  battery  was  covering  the  rear  of  the  retreatino- 
raiding  forces,  a  shell  from  a  thirty-two-pounder  had  taken  a 
man's  head  off  at  his  side,  yet  he  never  appeared  excited. 
His  coolness  was  the  theme  of  admiration  of  all  the  troops. 


172  ILIAN. 

This  was  any  thing  but  pleasant  reading  to  Ilian.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  was  seeking  deathmen  the  field  of  battle?  She 
had  not  won  him' from  the  Union  navy  for  any  such  purpose. 
She  could  not  understand  the  change  which  he  had  manifested. 
Apparently  it  was  not  from  the  fever.  For  on  the  morning 
of  the  day  she  had  coerced  him  into  taking  that  terrible  oath 
he  was  bright  and  cheerfuh  The  next  day  he  was  able  to 
leave  his  bed,  but  the  whole  man  was  transformed.  A  new 
spirit  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  the  stately  form. 
There  was  no  longer  any  opposition  on  his  part  to  any  of  her 
wishes.  His  manner  was  that  of  a  prisoner  to  his  jailer, 
meekly  obedient  and  without  comment.  She  now  had  a 
period  of  three  months  of  trial  for  her  pet  scheme.  The  final 
success  of  the  Southern  States  she  had  never  doubted.  She 
fondly  hoped  that  the  name  of  Captain  Andrew  MacKewzie 
would  rise  to  the  zenith  of  the  war-horizon  as  a  star  of  the  first 
magnitude.  At  the  close  of  the  fratricidal  contest,  with  the 
rank  of  lieutenant-general,  he  would  clasp  her  as  his  bride 
and  tell  her  how  much  he  was  indebted  to  her  forethought 
for  his  exalted  position  in  the  Confederacy  of  the  Southern 
States,  and  a  grateful  country  would  call  him  to  the  presi- 
dential chair.  All  this,  and  more  too,  she  had  pictured  to 
herself.  Now,  when  all  had  gone  so  smoothly  in  the  grooves 
prepared  by  her,  she  was  rudely  awakened  from  her  dream  by 
the  information  contained  in  Dr.  Rechard's  letter.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  the  man  whom  she  hoped  by  her  help  to  raise 
so  high  was  seeking  death  in  battle? 

Ilian  was  a  woman  of  infinite  resources,  and  she  determined 
at  once  upon  a  course  to  pursue:  first,  that  Captain  Mac- 
Kenzie  should  be  promoted ;  and,  secondly,  to  keep  him  out 
of  the  range  of  the  Federal  bullets  till  such  time  as  he  had 
recovered  the  full  vigor  of  his  mental  condition. 

The  Confederate  authorities  of  Richmond  had  early  in  the 
war  learned  to  appreciate  the  great  value  of  the  services  of 
Miss  Mordine.  Her  vast  wealth  was  freely  employed  to  aid 
and  establish  the  right  of  the  Southern  people  to  deliverance 
from  the  bond  of  the  Federal  Union.  Several  of  their  great 
leaders  who,  in  the  beginning  of  the  contest,  were  disposed  to 
uphold  the  Union,  had  been  convinced  by  her  able  and  clear 
presentation  of  the  just  claims  of  one  or  more  of  the  States  to 
withdraw  at  any  time  from  the  compact  of  federation  by  a 


AMBITION  FOILED. 


173 


two-thirds  vote  of  their  citizens.  The  strength  of  her  logic 
was  not  only  in  her  tongue,  her  eyes  were  powerful  agents 
that  few  could  resist.  She  not  only  sustained  the  courage  of 
her  own  people,  but  she  greatly  disheartened  the  officers  of 
the  Union  army  and  navy  whenever  they  could  be  reached. 
As  an  ''interviewer"  slie  had  no  equal,  and  when  any  secret 
expedition  was  planned  she  generally  contrived  by  adroit 
questions,  seemingly  innocent,  to  obtain  knowledge  of  all  the 
particulars  needed.  If  any  one  of  the  other  sex  thinks  this 
description  of  Ilian  and  her  power  to  obtain  State  secrets  over- 
drawn, let  him  try  the  experiment.  He  may  be  possessed  of 
valuable  information,  and  a  young  and  handsome  woman 
about  one  degree  removed  from  the  mundane  conception  of 
angels  in  form  and  temperament  desires  to  obtain  it  from  him. 
How  long  will  he  stand  up  against  her  art  ?  There  will  have 
to  be  a  radical  change  in  man's  nature  when  he  finds  himself 
proof  against  all  the  fascination  which  a  beautiful  woman 
with  superior  talent  can  bring  to  bear. 

Such  was  Ilian,  and  her  influence  was  felt  in  every  depart- 
ment of  the  government  at  Richmond.     On  the  evenino-  of 
the  day  that  she  received  the  letter  from  Dr.  Rechard'^she 
sent  a  letter  from  New  Orleans  to  the  Secretary  of  War  ask- 
ing for  the  promotion  of  Captain  MacKenzie  to  the  post  of 
major  of  his  regiment,  which  was  then   vacant.      She  also 
asked  for  a  complimentary  letter  recognizing  his  gallantry 
in  the  face  of  the  enemy.     By  the  return   of  the  mail  she 
received  information   that  both  requests  were  granted.     At 
once  she  hastened  to  Mobile  to  witness  the  reading  of  the  offi- 
cial   order  of   promotion,  which   in   highly  flattering    terms 
referred  to  the  services  of  the  brave  captain.      She''  keenly 
watched  his  face  as  he  received  the    congratulations  of  his 
colonel  and  brother  officers,  and  also  the  cheers  of  his  men 
who  had  become  devotedly  attached  to  him.     He  acknowl' 
edged  their  greetings  with  a  smile,  and  replied  that  he  was 
sorry  that  some  one  more  worthy  had  not  been  selected  for 
the  high  honor  which  had  been  conferred  upon  him.     When 
Ihan  took  his  hand  and  expressed  her  joy  at  the  advancement 
ot  the  brave  Major  MacKenzie,  she  realized  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life  that  there  was  one  man  who  was  not  under  the 
power  of  her  magnetism.     Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  her 
love  for  him  increased  a  hundred-fold.     All  this  had  no  efi-ect 


15^ 


174  ILIAN. 

upon  the  major.  He  merely  bowed,  and  then  in  a  tone  which 
was  not  intended  to  be  ironical,  but  was  quiet  and  dignified, 
replied,  "  It  was  indeed  a  great  honor  to  have  her  approval 
of  his  actions,  and  he  hoped  to  prove  more  worthy." 

With  a  smile  that  would  have  melted  the  heart  of  the  most 
cynical  woman-hater,  she  told  him  she  looked  for  a  time,  and 
that  not  far  distant,  when  she  could  behold  the  triple  stars  of 
a  lieutenant-general  on  his  shoulders ;  and  that  then  when 
the  war  was  over  she  would  be  ready  to  redeem  her  promise  ; 
''  but  not,"  she  added,  with  her  sweetest  manner,  "  for  the  stars, 
but  for  the  man  himself  who  wore  them." 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  gleam  of  sunshine  on  his  foce, 
as  though  the  recollection  of  some  pleasant  dream  came  be- 
fore him  ;  then  followed  that  inexpressible  look  of  sadness 
which  was  habitually  there,  and  he  asked,  with  an  inquiring 
look, — 

"  To  what  promise  does  Miss  Mordine  refer  ?" 

This  was  the  first  time  since  their  engagement  that  he 
had  made  use  of  this  formal  term  ;  and  now  he  had  appar- 
ently forgotten  that  she  had  promised  to  marry  him. 

This  was  too  much  for  her  to  endure.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms  and  call  him  by  the  name 
of  Adrien,  which  she  treasured  in  her  inmost  heart,  and  to 
ask  him  whether  he  had  forgotten  his  ilian  and  her  vow  to 
be  his  loving  little  wife.  But  they  were  in  the  presence  of 
his  regiment,  and  in  order  to  control  her  feelings,  which  were 
ready  to  break  down  all  barriers,  she  drew  herself  up  to  her 
full  height,  and  in  a  haughty  tone  replied, — 

"  I  am  sorry  that  my  promises  are  of  so  little  importance 
to  Major  Mackenzie  that  he  has  to  ask  for  information  of 
their  purport.  Perhaps  others  may  be  more  interested  in 
what  I  offer  to  do."     And,  bowing  coldly,  she  left  him. 

Colonel  Ormond  now  came  up,  and,  with  a  look  of  intense 
surprise,  remarked, — 

"  Why,  major,  you  have  offended  Miss  Mordine." 

"  Have  I  ?     In  what  way  ?"  was  the  innocent  answer. 

Dr.  Rechard  whispered  in  the  colonel's  ear,  "  Perhaps  it 
is  a  lover's  quarrel,  atid  it  were  better  not  to  interfere." 

Thus  was  her  ambition  partly  foiled,  but  it  was  to  be  totally 
checkmated  at  a  later  period.  Ilian,  however,  gained  her 
point  in  keeping  the  major  out  of  danger,  for  he  was  assigned 


BATTLE   OF  MOBILE  BAY.  175 

to  the  command  of  one  of  the  small  forts  at  the  head  of  Mobile 
Bay. 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  adopt  new  tactics.  She  would 
for  a  while  keep  away  from  the  major,  and  then  perhaps  he 
would  learn  to  appreciate  her  services. 

In  the  performance  of  his  duties  in  strengthening  his  fort, 
and  keeping  on  the  alert  at  all  times,  the  autumn  of  1863 
passed  gradually  away.  Rumors  were  current  from  time 
to  time  that  Admiral  Farragut  proposed  to  attack  Fort 
Morgan,  pass  the  batteries,  and  thus  hold  the  route  by  water 
to  the  city  of  Mobile.  Every  preparation  was  made  to 
resist. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BATTLE   OF   MOBILE   BAY. 


I  CANNOT  undertake  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  the  great 
historic  battle  of  Mobile  Bay,  but  only  refer  to  such  portions 
of  it  as  come  within  the  experience  of  Major  MacKenzie.  A 
very  able  description,  however,  is  given  by  Commander  A.  T. 
Mahan,  United  States  Navy,  in  his  book  called  The  Gulf  and 
Inland  Waters.  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  copying  a  few  re- 
marks, which  will  serve  our  purpose  : 

"  The  city  of  Mobile  is  thirty  miles  from  the  Gulf,  at  the 
head  of  a  great  bay  of  the  same  name.  The  entrance  from  the 
Gulf  was  guarded  by  two  works, — Fort  Morgan,  on  Mobile 
Point,  and  Fort  Gaines,  on  Dauphin  Island.  There  were  also 
other  small  forts  at  different  points.  The  most  formidable  was 
Fort  Morgan,  already  mentioned.  It  was  five-sided,  and  was 
built  to  carry  guns  in  casemate  and  baibette,  and  had  a  water- 
battery  facing  the  channel.  The  total  number  of  guns  were 
about  fifty,  nearly  all  of  heavy  calibre. 

"  In  the  waters  of  the  bay  there  was  a  little  Confederate 
squadron  under  Admiral  Franklin  Buchanan.  The  most 
powerful  ironclad  built  by  the  Confederacy  was  his  flag-ship, 
and  called  the  '  Tennessee.'  The  preparations  fur  the  defence 
of  Mobile  Bay  was  not  confined  to  the  forts  and  ships.  Tor- 
pedoes were  thickly  planted,  and  a  long  line  of  pile  obstruc- 


176  ILIAN. 

tions  extended  from  the  point  of  Dauphin  Island  to  within 
two  hundred  and  twenty-six  feet  of  Fort  Morgan.  Thus  pre- 
pared, they  awaited  the  coming  battle." 

We  now  turn  back  to  Ilian.  Shortly  after  the  promotion 
of  the  major  in  October  she  had  gone  North.  She 
passed  the  lines  without  trouble,  visited  Washington 
and  New  York,  where  Colonel  Hortense  was  installed 
in  charge  of  the  bureau  of  the  Confederate  secret  service. 
She  remained  a  few  days  with  Mrs.  Hortense,  and  her 
son  once  more  renewed  his  offer  of  marriage.  She  told 
him  that  she  had  postponed  the  consideration  of  matrimony 
till  the  war  should  end.  After  finishing  her  business  in  New 
York  she  went  to  Boston,  and  there  made  particular  inquiries 
as  to  how  Professor  Homerand  and  his  wife  had  borne  the 
loss  of  their  son.  She  was  informed  that  the  regret  was  uni- 
versal at  the  untimely  fate  of  Adrien.  His  father  had  aged 
very  much  and  seemed  to  have  lost  all  interest  in  the  war,  and 
had  lately  gone  to  Europe  with  his  sorrowing  wife.  She  also 
paid  a  visit  to  the  grave  of  her  aunt,  and  while  standing  by 
the  side  of  the  marble  shaft  that  marked  the  place,  she  re- 
flected upon  her  Hannibal  oath.  If  it  was  still  binding,  it  had 
been  fully  carried  out.  The  senior  Homerand  and  his  wife  were 
exiles  from  home,  bowed  down  beneath  their  terrible  calamity. 
Their  son,  whom  they  mourned  as  dead,  was  a  deserter  from 
the  flag  he  had  sworn  to  defend,  and  bound  by  a  terrible  oath 
to  remain  where  he  was.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  oath  was 
null  and  void,  then  she  had  done  nothing  amiss,  but  had  won 
from  the  Union  forces  a  champion  for  her  beloved  South  ;  and 
as  he  was  born  in  England,  no  such  stigma  would  attach  to  him 
as  it  would  if  he  had  been  a  native  of  the  North.  Besides,  if 
the  Southern  independence  was  won,  then  no  one  need  ever 
know  his  past  history.  Thus  she  reasoned.  The  logic  must 
stand  or  fall  on  its  own  merits. 

Late  in  December  Ilian  again  returned  to  Mobile. 

It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  her  to  perceive  that  while 
Major  MacKenzie  was  enjoying  sound  physical  health,  yet 
his  mind  was  still  clouded.  His  great  hobby  was  the  re- 
markable proposition  that  two  spirits  could  exchange  their 
earthly  tabernacles  regardless  of  sex,  as  they  were  in  their 
own  function  independent  of  the  body,  which,  indeed,  was 
merely,  as  Professor  Holmes  once  expressed  it,  an  omnibus  for 


BATTLE   OF  MOBILE  BAY.  177 

the  carriage  of  the  spirit  across  the  continent  of  this  life,  and 
so  was  liable  to  be  invaded  at  any  time  by  one  or  more  other 
beings  of  the  same  nature.  On  all  other  points  his  arguments 
were  clear  and  logical.  As  he  was  a  genial  companion,  no 
particular  attention  was  paid  to  this  peculiarity. 

When  his  duties  permitted,  he  mixed  in  society,  won  a  host 
of  friends,  and  was  a  special  favorite  of  the  ladies.  He  had  a 
fine,  cultivated  voice,  and  sang  frequently  in  French  and 
German.  His  greatest  hit,  however,  was  the  old  ballad 
called  "  A  fine  old  English  Gentleman,  one  of  the  Olden 
Time."     None  ever  tired  of  hearing  him  sing  it. 

On  New-Year's-Day  of  1864  a  grand  ball  was  given  in 
Mobile  in  honor,  as  it  was  termed,  of  the  brave  defenders  of 
the  South.  Major  MacKenzie  was  the  lion  of  the  evening. 
Ilian  came  on  from  New  Orleans  to  attend  it.  For  the  first 
time  she  felt  the  pangs  of  jealousy.  Judges  and  generals 
were  bowing  at  her  feet,  delighted  if  they  but  gained  a  smile, 
while  the  man  who  held  her  heart  was  indifferent  to  her 
attractions. 

When  the  gallant  major  was  asked  by  one  of  the  ladies  how 
he  liked  the  handsome  dress  of  Miss  Mordine,  he  replied  that 
he  had  not  noticed  it.  He  was  surrounded  by  the  belles  of 
the  evening,  with  whom  he  laughed  and  chatted  in  his 
brightest  mood ;  but  when  Ilian  spoke  to  him  he  would  only 
bow  and  express  how  much  he  was  indebted  to  her.  She 
could  not  tell  whether  he  was  sarcastic  or  not. 

Her  mortification  reached  its  culminating  point  when  sup- 
per was  announced.  She  had  mentioned  to  him  that  several 
gentlemen  were  anxious  to  take  her  in  to  supper,  but  that 
courtesy  was  reserved  for  her  dearest  friend.  She  then 
looked  smilingly  into  his  face,  but  he  would  not  take  the  hint. 
He  simply  said,  "  What  a  highly-favored  man  that  friend 
must  be  !"  She  employed  every  little  feminine  art  to  induce 
him  to  escort  her  in  to  the  table,  but  of  no  avail.  At  last,  at 
midnight,  when  the  meal  was  announced,  she  saw  him  offer 
his  arm  to  a  handsome  woman  and  go  with  her  into  the 
dining-hall. 

Jealousy  and  offended  dignity,  when  united  in  a  woman 
of  such  a  temperament  as  Ilian,  produce  a  condition  of  mind 
very  diflficult  to  describe.  Two  days  after  Major  MacKenzie 
received  orders  to  report  for  special  duty  to  the  officer  com- 


178  ILIAN. 

manding  Fort  Morgan,  and  it  was  only  at  rare  intervals  that 
he  was  permitted  to  visit  Mobile. 

Thus  passed  the  spring  and  early  summer.  On  the  1st  of 
August  the  Confederate  forces  were  made  aware  that  the  long- 
expected  battle  for  possession  of  Mobile  Bay  was  at  hand. 

The  day  before  the  fleet  entered,  Major  MacKenzie  was 
transferred  from  Fort  Morgan  to  the  command  of  a  small 
fort,  supposed  to  be  fur  above  where  the  severe  fighting  would 
take  place. 

Ilian  was  at  this  time  in  New  York  engaged  upon  secret 
service.  She  had  only  seen  the  Major  once  since  the  New- 
Year's  ball.  His  manner  was  courteous  in  the  extreme,  and 
he  appeared  anxious  to  please  her,  but  there  was  no  beaming 
of  love  in  his  eyes.  Her  heart  was  bursting,  and  there  was 
no  one  in  whom  she  could  confide  except  Dr.  Kechard.  That 
secret  of  her  coercion  was  too  terrible  to  trust  to  any  one  else. 
When  the  news  came  to  her  that  the  victorious  Admiral  Farra- 
gut  was  about  to  open  fire  from  his  formidable  fleet  upon  the 
forts  in  Mobile  B:iy,  she  was  in  the  utmost  distress,  lest  that 
life  which  was  now  dearer  to  her  than  her  own  should  be 
sacrificed  in  the  combat.  At  her  request  he  had  been  trans- 
ferred, as  she  thought,  to  a  place  of  safety.  She  herself  has- 
tened to  return  to  the  theatre  of  conflict ;  but  before  reaching 
her  destination  the  battle  had  been  fought  and  won,  and  the 
standard  of  the  Union  floated  over  the  forts  and  captured  ves- 
sels of  war.  Tlie  city  of  Mobile  still  held  out.  On  her 
arrival  she  sought  for  a  list  of  the  casualties,  and  her  eyes 
eagerly  scanned  the  page, — first  the  killed,  then  the  wounded, 
and  following  the  prisoners,  lastly  the  missing.  The  first 
name  that  met  her  gaze  on  the  latter  was  that  of  Major  Mac- 
Kenzie. His  fort  had  been  shelled  and  carried  by  assault. 
The  shock  was  too  much  for  her  already  overstrained  nerves, 
and  she  swooned  away. 

When  Ilian  recovered  consciousness  Dr.  Rechard  was 
standing  by  her  side.  In  answer  to  her  inquiries,  he  stated 
that  when  it  was  found  that  the  fort  could  not  hold  out, 
Major  MacKeuzie  had  instructed  him  to  leave  with  such  of 
the  wounded  as  could  be  taken  in  a  boat  which  was  in  the 
rear  of  the  fort.  This  he  had  done.  There  was  another  boat 
in  waiting  for  the  major.  But  when  it  arrived  on  the  oppo- 
site  side   filled  with  fugitives   he  was   not  in  it.      It  was 


ON  THE   TRAIL,  179 

reported  that  he  had  been  too  badly  wounded  to  be  re- 
moved, and  he  must  therefore  have  fallen  a  prisoner  into 
the  hands  of  the  Union  forces.  This  was  three  days  ago  ; 
but  he  had  received  word  this  morning  that  a  wounded  Con- 
federate officer  was  lying  very  ill  at  a  negro  cabin  ten  miles 
from  the  city,  and  he  was  just  preparing  to  investigate  the 
case  and  find  out  who  the  officer  was,  when  news  was  brought 
of  her  return. 

Both  realized  the  awful  fate  that  would  be  meted  out  to 
the  major  if  he  was  made  a  prisoner  and  his  identity  discov- 
ered. Ugly  rumors  were  floating  round  New  Orleans  that 
Miss  Mordiue  had  won  several  Northern  officers  from  their 
allegiance,  who  had  resigned  and  were  supposed  to  have  gone 
North,  but  instead  had  joined  the  Confederate  army. 

Horses  were  immediately  ordered,  and  within  an  hour 
Ilian  and  Dr.  Rechard  were  in  the  saddle  bound  for  the  place 
where  the  wounded  officer  was  said  to  be. 

Who  he  was  will  be  described  in  the  next  chapter. 

N^ote. — It  was  at  first  my  purpose  to  give  a  brief  descrip- 
tion of  the  celebrated  battle  of  Mobile  Bay,  and  while  I  will 
speak  of  it  in  the  next  chapter,  I  think  it  best  to  refer  my 
readers  who  may  feel  interested  in  it  to  the  work  already 
mentioned  at  the  commencement  of  this  chapter,  by  Com- 
mander A.  T.  Mahan,  U.S.N.  It  is  published  by  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  and  is  of  deep  interest  and  will  repay  reading. 


CHAPTER     X. 

ON    THE    TRAIL. 


The  sun  was  shedding  its  parting  rays  over  a  small  negro 
cabin,  in  front  of  which  the  owner,  an  old  man,  was  chopping 
wood.  He  was  interrupted  by  the  unexpected  appearance  of 
two  foam-covered  horses  that  drew  rein  before  him,  and  a 
gentleman  and  a  lady  dismounted.  They  had  come,  they  told 
him,  to  ofier  assistance  to  a  wounded  officer  who  was  then  in 
his  cottage.     The  old  negro  planted  himself  firmly  in  front 


180  ILIAN. 

of  the  door-way  and  demanded  credentials  that  they  were 
friends.  When  convinced  on  this  point,  he  told  them  that 
his  son  was  the  body-servant  of  the  commanding  officer  of 
one  of  the  forts  in  Mobile  Bay  which  was  carried  by  assault, 
and  in  the  confusion  had  taken  his  master  away  in  a  skiff 
which  he  had  concealed.  He  took  him  in  a  different  direction 
from  the  other  boats,  and  finally  brought  him  here.  He  had 
gone  to  Mobile  to  find  a  Dr.  Rechard. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  said  the  gentleman. 

As  they  entered  the  single  room  of  the  cabin  they  saw  a 
bed  in  one  corner  with  an  occupant  whose  head  was  bound 
with  a  cloth.  By  his  side  sat  an  old  colored  woman  with  a 
bowl  of  gruel  in  her  hand,  and  they  heard  her  say,  "  Now, 
honey,  you  must  done  gone  and  took  dis  'ere  refreshment,  for 
you  am  pow'ful  weak."  Then  looking  up  and  seeing  the 
two  strangers  at  the  door,  she  exclaimed,  "  Lor'  a  massa, 
here  am  de  friends  dat  you  expect." 

The  sick  man  raised  himself  in  the  bed  with  a  frightened 
air,  as  though  dreading  capture,  and,  recognizing  who  had 
come,  spoke  in  a  voice  in  which  surprise,  joy,  and  excitement 
were  mingled. 

"  Dr.  Bechard,  my  tried  and  true  friend,  thrice  welcome.  I 
need  your  help  and  skill  as  never  before.  Ilian,  my  own 
darling,  have  you  come  to  me?  How  I  have  longed  in  the 
weary  hours  of  my  sickness  to  hear  your  footsteps  and  to 
listen  to  that  sweet  voice  of  the  dear  long  ago  !  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  have  been  in  a  dream  ;  perhaps  I  am  dreaming  now, 
and  will  awake  and  find  myself " 

Before  he  could  finish  she  had  clasped  him  in  her  arms, 
and  her  tears  fell  fast.  The  doctor  withdrew  to  wipe  his  own 
eyes  and  leave  the  united  lovers  alone.  The  colored  pair  dis- 
played unbounded  delight.  Paradise  is  said  to  be  a  place  of 
happiness,  because  it  is  in  extreme  contrast  with  the  trials 
and  miseries  of  earth.  Ilian  now  felt  the  force  of  this.  After 
fourteen  months  of  weary  waiting,  to  hear  her  name  called  by 
that  voice  that  was  woven  in  the  essence  of  her  life,  in  the 
very  hour  when  she  was  uncertain  as  to  whether  he  was  living 
or  dead,  or  what  was  possibly  worse,  a  prisoner,  she  had  not 
only  found  him  alive,  but  his  mind  was  restored  and  he  called 
her  "  his  darling  Ilian."  Their  happiness,  their  brief  foretaste 
oi  an  earthly  paradise,  is  too  sacred.     We  may  not  intrude. 


ON  THE   TRAIL.  181 

The  following  morning  he  was  removed  by  easy  stages  to 
Mobile.  He  had  been  wounded  in  two  places  by  fragments 
of  a  nine-inch  shell,  one  on  the  left  side  of  his  neck  and  the 
other  on  his  left  knee.  The  hurts  were  not  dangerous,  but 
■would  prevent  him  from  going  on  active  service  for  several 
months.  A  week  later  he  was  able  to  walk  around  by  the 
aid  of  a  crutch.  Ilian  was  his  daily  visitor.  Her  lover  had 
recovered  from  his  mental  depression,  and  she  was  superlatively 
happy.  He  had  forgiven  her  for  her  act  of  coercion,  as  he 
was  convinced  from  what  he  had  been  told  that  if  he  had  not 
taken  the  course  he  did  he  would  have  been  assassinated  that 
night,  and  it  would  have  fared  badly  with  Bill  Harrison  also. 
The  man  was  kind  to  him,  had  treated  him  nobly,  and  had 
gone  security  with  his  own  life  to  the  secret-service  agents. 
The  major  looked  upon  the  matter  as  belonging  to  the  fortune 
of  war,  and  could  see  no  way  out  of  it  till  the  contest  should 
end.  This,  he  was  aware  from  all  he  heard,  was  likely  to  occur 
before  long;  and  then  in  Europe  a  new  life  could  be  begun, 
and  he  would  make  up  some  story  to  his  father  and  mother 
that  would  satisfy  them.  He  had  not  entered  into  his  present 
position  with  his  own  volition,  and  he  must  patiently  await 
his  release. 

He  related  to  Ilian  the  awful  agony  of  the  hour  when 
he  saw  the  famous  flag-ship  "  Hartford,"  followed  by  the 
"  Brooklyn  "  and  other  ships  of  the  squadron,  cross  the  bar 
and  repeat  the  tactics  of  the  passage  of  the  forts  at  New 
Orleans  over  two  years  previous.  He  witnessed  from  the 
parapet  of  his  own  fort  the  terrific  combat  with  the  ironclad 
"  Tennessee,"  and  saw  the  stars  and  stripes  float  from  her 
stern.  He  had  received  instructions  that  in  case  the  fleet 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  bay,  and  his  fort  was  attacked  by  a 
superior  force,  to  evacuate  and  fall  back  on  Mobile.  He 
noticed  several  ships  approach  to  open  fire  on  his  works ;  and 
at  the  same  time  he  discovered  a  large  body  of  men  marching 
on  his  flank.  Resistance  before  such  overwhelming  odds  was 
useless.  He  only  had  ten  guns  of  small  calibre,  so  he  gave 
the  order  to  spike  them  and  leave.  Before  all  could  depart 
he  observed  his  old  ship  steaming  up,  and  she  swung  her 
broadside  to  him  and  opened  fire  on  his  fort  by  divisions.  He 
saw  a  number  of  his  old  messmates,  and  he  would  not  return 
their  fire  even  if  he  could.     He  stood  still,  hoping  that  death 

16 


182  I  LI  AN. 

would  come  to  his  relief.  As  tlie  third  sheet  of  flame  burst 
from  the  sides  of  the  powerful  ship-of-war  a  five-second 
shell  burst  almost  along-side  of  him ;  two  of  the  fragments 
struck  him,  and  he  became  unconscious.  When  he  recov- 
ered his  senses  he  found  himself  conveyed  in  a  rough 
litter  by  half  a  dozen  of  the  colored  men  who  had  been 
employed  in  throwing  up  breastworks.  He  had  spoken 
kindly  to  them,  and  now  in  return  they  were  taking  him 
to  a  place  of  safety. 

Congratulations  were  offered  by  his  numerous  friends,  for 
he  and  Dr.  Rechard  were  the  only  ones  of  his  regiment  that 
escaped  capture.  Colonel  Ormond  was  wounded  and  a  prisoner. 
Among  those  who  came  to  see  him  was  Tom  Jeffords,  whose 
company  to  a  man  had  been  captured.  Tom  had  escaped ; 
how,  no  one  could  tell.  His  own  statement  was  that  he  had 
cut  his  way  through  the  Yankee  hordes  and  thus  reached 
Mobile.  The  most  singular  part  of  the  affiiir  was  that  his 
uniform  was  fimltlessly  clean  and  showed  no  signs  of  rough 
usage,  and  his  sword  was  not  even  marked,  as  some  thought 
it  should  have  been  when  a  valiant  soldier  has  fought  his  way 
through  masses  of  the  enemy.  He  silenced  further  criticisms, 
however,  by  the  blustering  assertion  that  he  would  shoot, 
scalp,  annihilate,  rip  up,  and  exterminate  generally  any  indi- 
vidual who  dared  question  his  statement.  Tom  stood  six  feet 
high,  weighed  two  hundred  pounds,  and  carried  a  pair  of 
revolvers,  a  bowie-knife,  and  a  short  carbine  slung  over  his 
shoulder  ;  and  with  a  long  sabre  at  his  side  he  was  a  formidable 
antagonist.  He  was  always  well  mounted,  and  rode  splendidly 
at  the  head  of  his  company  of  artillery  in  all  parades  and 
drills.  Persons  were  therefore  very  careful  in  expressing  their 
doubts  of  his  wonderful  escape,  as  they  felt  that  in  an  encounter 
with  "  the  mounted  arsenal,"  as  he  was  called,  they  would  be 
at  a  fearful  disadvantage.  There  were  three  persons  of  whom 
he  was  afraid.  One  was  Dr.  R-echard,  his  college-mate  ;  Major 
MacKenzie  inspired  him  with  respect  that  amounted  to  almost 
a  dread  which  he  could  not  shake  off ;  and  Miss  Mordine  he 
always  avoided. 

Dr.  Rechard  had  cautioned  the  major  and  Ilian  to  be  on 
their  guard.  He  had  found  Tom  prowling  around  and  ask- 
ing questions  of  the  servants.  This  was  more  than  Ilian 
would  endure.     At  her  instance  he  was  transferred  to  another 


ON  THE   TRAIL.  183 

district.  Orders  came  for  hiro  to  report  for  duty  to  Colonel 
Lamb,  who  was  commanding  at  Fort  Fisher.  This  would 
take  him  far  away.  He  came  one  afternoon  to  say  (^jood-by  to 
the  major,  and  found  him  alone.  The  servant  told  Jeffords 
that  his  master  was  asleep  and  he  could  not  disturb  him,  but 
Tom,  in  a  peremptory  manner,  commanded  him  to  inform  Major 
Andrew  MacKenzie  that  Captain  Thomas  Jeffords,  of  the 
South  Carolina  State  Battery,  wished  to  see  him  on  important 
business.  This  opened  at  once  the  door  of  the  sick  man's 
chamber.  He  strode  in  with  a  haughty  air,  and  took  a  seat 
without  being  asked,  holding  in  his  hands  his  orders  for  duty 
at  Cape  Fear.  For  a  moment  the  major  was  a  little  uneasy, 
not  knowing  what  Tom's  sharp  scent  might  have  discovered. 
The  keen  gray  eyes  of  the  captain  were  fixed  searchiagly  upon 
the  man  before  him,  as  if  trying  to  trace  some  resemblance  to 
another  face,  and  also  to  read,  if  possible,  his  inmost  soul. 

Slowly  he  said,  "  Major,  do  you  know  that  you  strongly 
remind  me  of  a  former  classmate  of  mine  at  college  in  the 
North,  whose  name  was  Adrien  Homerand?  He  joined  the 
Federal  navy  as  an  acting  master,  and  was  reported  to  have 
died  of  yellow-fever  a  year  ago  last  June  in  New  Orleans." 

If  the  crafty  captain  expected  that  this  announcement  would 
startle  the  major  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
only  answer  was  a  yawn.  The  major  in  a  careless  way  asked 
him,  "  Was  this  the  important  business  that  justified  him  in 
waking  a  sick  and  wounded  man  out  of  his  afternoon  sleep?" 
Then  in  an  indignant  tone  he  added,  "  What  interest  is  it  to 
me  if  I  do  resemble  a  score  of  Yankee  officers?  I  held  my 
ground  against  them  in  battle  and  bear  the  marks  of  the  con- 
flict." 

Tom  was  out-manoeuvred.     He  tried  to  retreat  gracefully. 

"  No  offence,  my  dear  major,"  said  he.  "  There  are  some 
splendid  men  in  the  Federal  service." 

"How  do  you  know?"  was  the  quick  rejoinder.  "  Have 
you  been  holding  personal  communication  with  them,  or  has 
the  remembrance  of  their  faces  as  seen  in  battle  left  an  in- 
delible impression  on  your  memory  ?" 

This  was  a  home-thrust,  and  the  irony  of  it  was  felt.  The 
intending  biter  had  been  badly  bitten.  He  rose  in  some  con- 
fusion, saying  that  he  had  been  ordered  to  leave  that  very 
afternoon  for  Fort  Fisher.     He  was  expecting  a  remittance 


184  ILIAN. 

from  his  uncle  in  Charleston,  and  needed  some  money  to  settle 
a  few  bills,  and  had  called  to  know  if  his  comrade  in  arms 
would  lend  him  a  hundred  dollars,  which  he  would  retura  on 
his  arrival  at  his  destination. 

The  major  arose  from  his  bed,  and,  going  to  a  desk  in  the 
room,  took  out  the  amount  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  The 
captain  placed  it  in  his  pocket,  sayins:, — 

"  Many  thanks,  my  dear  major.  Shall  I  give  you  my  note 
of  hand  for  this  loan  ?" 

"  No  ;  your  word  of  honor  will  be  sufficient." 

"  Oh,  you  can  have  that  cheerfully.  I  hereby  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  that  I  owe  you  one  hundred  dollars."  And 
with  this  he  bowed  himself  out. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  him  he  heard,  in  a  muttered  tone, 
the  words,  "  A  cheap  riddance." 

"  Ah  !"  he  thought  to  himself;  "  cheap,  is  it  ?  Then  I  will 
increase  the  price  next  time." 

By  evening  he  had  left  Mobile  far  behind  him.  Dr. 
Rechard  was  very  indignant  when  he  learned  of  this  visit,  and 
Ilian  was  furious.  Now,  however,  that  the  fellow  has  left, 
she  hoped  for  a  season  of  rest.  But  no  sooner  was  one  cause 
of  annoyance  gone  before  another  came  to  take  its  place. 


CHAPTER  XL 


BATTLE    OP    FORT    FISHER. 


At  sundown  of  the  evening  on  which  Tom  Jeffords  took 
his  departure  for  Cape  Fear  Colonel  Hortense  reported  him- 
self to  Ilian.  This  was  unlooked  for.  She  had  left  him  in 
New  York  in  charge  of  the  secret-service  office,  and  now  he 
had  returned  when  he  was  not  wanted.  He  informed  her 
that  he  had  met  Captain  Jeffords  at  a  way-station  where  the 
train  had  been  delayed.  They  only  had  a  few  minutes  for 
conversation,  but  the  captain  had  told  him  that  Adrien  Home- 
rand  was  not  dead,  and 

"  Stop  at  once  this  miserable  gossip,"  was  the  stern  com- 
mand of  Ilian,  and  her  eyes  flashed  a  dangerous  fire.     "  You 


BATTLE    OF  FORT  FISHER.  185 

know  as  well  as  I  do  that  he  is  dead,  for  you  stood  by  his 
grave  in  New  Orleans,  and  did  you  not  then  make  a  remark 
for  which  I  have  never  forgiven  you  ?  Do  you  forget  that 
you  said  you  wished  you  could  put  your  foot  on  the  grave  of 
every  officer  of  the  army  and  navy  of  the  Union  forces  ?" 

"  But,  Miss  Mordiue,  I  am  not  alone  in  this  sentiment." 

"  Admit  that ;  but  you  were  aware  that  Mr.  Homerand  was 
my  friend,  and  you  should  have  respected  my  feelings." 

"  I  am  deeply  sorry  if  I  have  pained  you  ;  but  tell  me,  who 
is  this  Major  MacKeuzie,  whose  fame  is  all  over  the  South?" 

"  An  English  gentleman  who  has  united  with  our  cause, 
and  who  has  the  sterling  qualities  of  Englishmen  in  general ; 
he  strictly  minds  his  own  business,  and  does  not  seek  to  pry 
into  others'  affairs.  Now,  colonel,  you  have  just  come  in 
time,  when  I  need  some  trustworthy  agent  to  go  to  New 
Orleans  to  look  after  certain  interests  there.  I  value  your 
services  more  than  you  can  tell." 

"  Ah  !  Miss  Mordine,  I  am  happy  to  hear  you  say  so.  And 
when  this  war  is  over  may  I  hope " 

"  Yes,  you  may  hope,  as  I  do,  for  many  things.  Now,  can 
you  set  out  to-night?" 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  at  once." 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  want  to  send  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Ormond,  whose  husband  is  wounded  and  a  prisoner,  also  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Harrison,  of  the  Grosvenor  House,  to  send  me 
Sam,  who  is  my  property.  He  is  a  very  shrewd  man,  and  will 
be  of  service.  By  the  way,  did  you  succeed  in  getting  Harri- 
son released  ?" 

"  I  did,  and  he  is  now  in  England.  You  remember  that 
when  he  was  arrested  after  the  death  of  Mr.  Homerand  he 
was  sent  North  on  the  charge  of  being  engaged  in  smuggling 
goods  into  the  Confederacy.  It  was  a  fortunate  thing  that 
the  arms  and  ammunition  were  removed  from  his  cellars  in 
time,  or  they  would  have  been  seized.  I  had  a  letter  from  him 
just  before  leaving  New  York,  and  he  expected  to  sail  with 
a  fine  steamer  to  run  the  blockade  into  Wilmington.  I 
thought  it  best  to  leave  New  York,  as  Pinkerton's  men  were 
getting  a  little  too  inquisitive  about  my  business,  and  I  heard 
likewise  that  they  have  suspicions  about  you.  I  think  it  will 
be  best  for  you  to  keep  away  from  there  at  present.  I  will 
call  in  an  hour  for  your  letters." 

16* 


186  ILIAN. 

The  following  morninjr  Ilian  received  a  letter  from  the 
Secretary  of  War,  at  llichmond,  stating  that  a  promotion  to 
the  rank  of  colonel  of  artillery  had  been  sent  to  Major 
MacKenzie,  and  he  was  assigned  to  special  duty  under  General 
G.  T.  Beauregard.  Slowly,  but  surely,  she  thought,  is  the 
ladder  being  mounted,  and  the  stars  of  a  lieutenant-general 
were  at  the  top. 

It  was  late  in  October  before  Colonel  MacKenzie  could 
mount  his  horse,  and  when  he  did  so  he  left  the  pleasant  circle 
of  friends  who  had  made  life  so  agreeable  for  him  in  Mobile. 
Ilian  at  the  same  time  went  to  New  Orleans,  and  from  there 
to  New  York.  Sam  had  been  given  to  the  colonel  for  his 
body-servant,  and  tiie  one  who  had  saved  his  life  when  the 
fort  was  captured  was  taken  into  the  service  of  Ilian,  and  had 
a  home  for  life  in  her  house  at  New  Orleans.  Dr.  Rechard 
was  also  to  report  for  duty  with  the  colonel.  Little  did  they 
expect  what  was  before  them. 

In  the  month  of  December,  1864,  Major-General  John  J. 
Peck,  commanding  the  forces  in  the  State  of  North  Carolina, 
sent  word  to  General  Beauregard  that  a  large  Federal  fleet, 
including  five  heavy  ironclads,  all  under  the  command  of 
Rear- Admiral  David  D.  Porter,  was  ibrraing  in  line  of  battle 
to  attack  Fort  Fisher,  which  commanded  the  main  entrance 
to  Cape  Fear  River,  and  was  the  chief  defence  of  Wilmington. 
The  fort  was  held  by  Colonel  Lamb,  one  of  the  ablest  men  in 
the  Southern  army,  and  no  fear  was  entertained  that  the 
fortress  could  be  taken.  It  was  heavily  armed  and  nearly 
three  miles  in  extent.  It  was  an  oblong  square,  bounded  on 
the  west  by  the  river,  and  on  the  east  by  tlie  Atlantic ;  on 
the  south  was  the  channel,  well  protected  by  torpedoes.  The 
north  face  was  a  narrow  strip  of  woods.  On  the  27th  of  the 
same  month  word  was  again  sent  to  General  Beauregard, 
stating  that  the  last  of  the  Federal  troops  had  that  day  re- 
embarked  on  their  transports  and  sailed  for  the  North.  The 
fort  had  sustained  without  material  damage  a  heavy  bom- 
bardment from  the  largest  fleet  that  had  yet  gathered  under 
the  Union  flag.  Admiral  Porter  had  given  up  the  attempt, 
and  was  retiring  with  his  squadron.  Colonel  Lamb  reported 
that  the  bombardment  had  made  known  the  weak  points  in 
the  defences,  and  urgently  asked  for  reinforcements,  as  another 
attack  would  most  likely  be  made. 


BATTLE   OF  FORT  FISHER.  I87 

Colonel  MacKenzie  was  sent  with  such  troops  as  could  be 
spared,  and  reported  on  the  fifth  day  of  January.  Colonel 
Lamb  gave  a  -enial  reception  to  the  brave  Enulishman,  and 
assigned  him  an  important  point  in  the  defence  of  the  fort. 
Almost  the  first  man  the  colonel  met  was  Captain  Tom 
Jeffords,  who  was  profuse  in  apologies  for  not  having  sent 
back  the  one  hundred  dollars,  but  promised  to  do  so  the  next 
remittance  he  got  from  his  uncle. 

The  following  day  a  blockade-runner,  closely  pressed  by  the 
blockading  fleet,  anchored  in  the  river  off  the  fort,  and  her 
captain  came  ashore  to  pay  his  respects  to  Colonel  Lamb, 
toionel  MacKenzie  was  anxious  to  see  the  man  who  had  so 
cleverly  evaded  the  strict  watch,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
that  It  was  no  other  than  Bill  Harrison,  of  the  Grosvenor 
House,  who  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  his  old  friend,  as 
he  termed  him,  grasped  him  warmly  by  the  hand  and  ex- 
pressed  his  great  joy  at  meeting  him.  This  was  his  second 
trip,  and  he  hoped  to  make  another  from  Bermuda,  and  would 
then  retire  from  the  business.  On  his  way  back  to  his  boat 
he  was  intercepted  by  Captain  Jeffords,  who  asked  him  if  he 
knew  any  thing  of  the  antecedents  of  Colonel  MacKenzie. 

'Yes  was  the  reply.  '-The  colonel  comes  of  as  pure 
Jl^nghsh  blood  as  can  be  found  anywhere.  '  Know  him,'  did 
you  ask  .''     Yes,  and  I  am  proud  to  know  him." 

This  did  not  satisfy  Tom.  His  suspicions  were  aroused.  If 
he  could  verify  them,  he  would  demand  a  high  price  for  keen- 
ing silence.  ^ 
The  next  morning  he  met  the  colonel  who  was  driUino-his 
men  and  preparing  for  the  second  battle,  which  was  near  at 
hand._  lom  resolved  upon  a  bold  attack  ;  going  up  to  him  he 
said,  in  a  loud  tone  that  was  overheard  by  those  around,— 

Colonel  xMacKenzie,  there  is  a  rumor  that  an  ex-Federal 
naval  officer  is  fighting  under  our  flag,  and  a  lai-e  reward  is 
ottered  for  him,  dead  or  alive,  by  Admiral  Porter/' 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  Well,  I  must  say 
you  have  more  of  the  Yankee  inquisitiveness  in  you  than 
any  man  I  ever  met,  but  you  have  not  their  dash  and 
bravery;  for  our  experience  of  their  fighting  qualities  has 
convinced  us  that  cowardice  is  not  one  of  their  failings,  and 
hat  IS  more  than  I  can  say  for  other  individuals  that  I 
know  personally.  ' 


188  ILIAN. 

"  Is  that  slur  meant  for  me,  sir  ?"  cried  out  the  captain, 
putting  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

"  Better  reserve  that  virgin  blade  for  initiation  when  in 
the  course  of  the  next  few  days  the  Union  forces  will  make 
the  attempt  to  storm  our  works,"  was  the  sarcastic  answer. 

"  You  will  hear  more  of  this  later  on,"  retorted  the  baffled 
captain,  as  he  retired  amidst  the  laughter  of  the  men  who  had 
overheard  the  dialogue. 

The  expected  battle  was  renewed  with  a  vengeance  on  the 
12th  of  January.  A  fleet  composed  of  over  fifty  vessels  of 
all  grades,  from  the  large  double-banked  steam -frigates  and 
ironclads  down  to  the  heavily-armed  gun-boats,  anchored  in 
three  lines  of  battle  before  the  doomed  fortress.  For  three 
days  the  shells  poured  in  like  hail.  The  explosion  inside  of 
the  works  of  the  fifteen-,  eleven-,  and  nine-inch  shells  was  so 
terrible  in  destructive  force  that  all  the  guns  on  the  sea-face 
were  disabled.  Colonel  MacKenzie  never  once  sought  the 
shelter  of  the  bomb-proofs ;  his  courage  and  coolness  ani- 
mated his  men.  Captain  Jeifords,  however,  was  laid  up  early 
in  the  fight  with  a  wound  in  the  leg,  which  he  kept  carefully 
bandaged. 

On  Sunday,  the  15th  of  January,  the  assault  was  made. 
Two  thousand  blue-jackets  and  marines  from  the  fleet,  who 
had  landed  early  in  the  forenoon,  charged  at  three  o'clock  up 
the  sea-face  of  the  fort,  expecting  to  carry  it  by  assault,  but 
were  driven  back  with  great  slaughter.  Cheer  upon  cheer 
rent  the  air,  the  excited  defenders  all  coming  out  from  their 
bomb-proofs.  Captain  Jeffords  being  one  of  the  most  de- 
monstrative. A  few  minutes  later  a  terrible  cry  was  heard, — 
"  The  Yankees  have  stormed  the  fort  and  have  carried  seven 
redoubts!  To  arms,  and  repel  the  assault!"  Tom  at  once 
fled,  regardless  of  his  lame  leg,  and  reached  cover. 

When  the  naval  contingent  was  repulsed  the  Confederates 
had  supposed  it  was  the  main  assault,  and  were  not  aware  of 
the  presence  of  over  seven  thousand  troops,  under  Brigadier- 
General  Terry,  who,  coming  on  the  flank,  had  carried  everything 
before  them.  It  now  became  a  hand-to-hand  conflict.  The 
carnage  was  fearful ;  the  blue  and  the  gray  bit  the  dust 
together.  The  Southern  troops  were  outnumbered,  but  they 
bravely  contested  each  foot  of  ground,  and  retired  slowly 
before  the  overwhelming  odds.     Colonel  MacKenzie  held  his 


PRISONER  IN  THE  NORTH.  189 

position  for  a  while.  Then  came  a  fierce  bayonet  charge,  like 
a  tidal  wave,  and  the  grays  went  down  before  it.  The  colonel 
felt  a  sharp  pain,  and  was  borne  backwards  and  trampled  upon 
by  the  surging  masses  of  struggling  men.  He  was  left  where 
he  fell.  He  saw  not  the  flag  which  he  had  so  gallantly  de- 
fended lowered  in  the  dust.  Neither  did  he  see  the  Union 
standard  as  it  floated  in  the  evening  breeze,  the  emblem  of 
victory,  over  every  point  of  the  strong  walls  of  the  captured 
forti-ess.  He  heard  not  the  shouts  of  the  victors,  the  answering 
steam-whistles  of  the  ships-of-war,  nor  the  loud  cheerings  of 
their  crews,  many  of  whose  gallant  shipmates  were  then  lying 
dead  upon  the  sands.  The  fort  had  been  bravely  defended. 
"When  the  animosity  of  party  and  the  excitement  of  sectional 
spirit  shall  have  passed  away,  future  generations  will  give  Colonel 
Lamb  and  his  brave  troops  the  praise  that  is  their  due  for  the 
stubborn  defence  made  against  a  formidable  array  of  war-ships 
and  a  superior  force  of  veteran  soldiers. 

After  the  battle  the  wounded  of  both  sides  were  sought  out 
and  attended  to  at  once.  The  blue  and  the  gray  shared  equally 
in  the  ministrations  of  the  surgeons.  Dr.  Ilechard,  finding 
that  the  colonel  was  not  among  the  prisoners,  was  permitted 
to  search  for  him,  and  found  him,  apparently  lifeless,  under 
half  a  dozen  slain.  Tenderly  he  was  borne  to  a  casemate,  but 
when  the  surgeons  looked  at  him  they  said, — 

"  Too  late  ;  he  is  dead." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

PRISONER   IN    THE   NORTH. 

By  the  side  of  the  blood-stained  oflacer  sat  the  faithful  ser- 
vant Sam.  With  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  he  was  eagerly 
chafing  the  hands  and  seeking  to  call  back  life.  Every  half- 
hour  Dr.  Rechard  came  to  see  if  there  was  any  sign  of  return- 
ing animation.  He  could  not  believe  that  the  spirit  had  fled. 
Once  before  he  had  brought  him  back  when  he  was  almost 
across  the  dark  river.     All  of  the  surgeons  were  hard  at  work 


190  ILIAN. 

through  the  night,  as  the  number  of  the  wounded  on  both  sides 
was  very  large.  By  sunrise  next  morning  Dr.  Rechard  found 
an  opportunity  to  make  an  examination  of  the  wounds  of  his 
prostrate  friend.  A  bayonet  had  gone  through  the  fleshy  part 
of  the  arm  above  the  elbow.  A  bullet  had  entered  the  left 
side  near  the  heart  and  come  out  at  the  back.  But  whether 
the  organ  of  life  was  pierced  could  not  be  ascertained.  His 
head  was  cut  in  several  places  from  being  trampled  upon.  Sam 
washed  his  wounds,  and  the  doctor  bandaged  them  up ;  some 
brandy  was  poured  down  his  throat,  so  that  if  any  life  was  left 
it  would  soon  manifest  itself  Shortly  afterwards  there  was  a 
spasmodic  contraction  of  the  body  and  a  slight  pulsation,  fol- 
lowed by  regular  breathing,  weak  in  its  effort,  but  proving  that 
the  heart  had  not  bee;i  touched.  At  nine  o'clock  the  wounded 
man  opened  his  eyes,  and,  recognizing  his  faithful  attendant, 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Sam,  is  that  you?     Where  am  I?" 

"  Yes,  Massa  MacKenzie,  dat  am  me,  sure ;  and  you  am 
a  prisoner  in  dis  fort,  and  am  pow'ful  wounded.  Dis  'ere 
nigger's  heart  am  clean  broke,  a-fcaring  you  was  dead.  Here 
comes  de  doctor.  When  he  sees  dat  your  eyes  am  open,  and 
hears  dat  voice  again,  he  hab  a  smile  on  his  face  something 
like  my  ole  mudder  hab  when  dis  child  am  gone  back  to  New 
Orleans  arter  dis  'ere  war  am  ended.  Lor'  a  massa,  I  t'iuk  it 
am  ended  now ;  heap  o'  men  killed.  But  de  Lord  am  good  to 
some  peoples.  Dat  'ere  Captain  Jeifords,  he  am  alive,  and 
don't  get  no  wounds  ;  somebody  done  gone  and  took  dat  band- 
age off  his  leg  and  put  it  on  some  one  dat  am  wounded,  sure ; 
and  no  make-believe  like  dat  captain." 

The  doctor  did  indeed  smile  as  he  took  the  hand  of  the 
colonel,  and  the  tears  flowed  freely  down  his  cheeks  when  he 
heard  the  utterance  of  that  voice  which  he  had  feared  was 
silenced  forever. 

"  Is  the  fort  taken  ?"  was  the  colonel's  eager  question. 

"  Yes ;  it  was  carried  by  assault.  The  attack  of  the  naval 
brigade  on  the  sea-face  was  not  the  main  body,  and  GTeneral 
Terry,  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  came  from  the  woods  and 
swept  everything  before  them.  Last  night  Colonel  Lamb  and 
General  Whiting  were  made  prisoners,  being  wounded,  and  the 
Federal  troops  are  now  in  full  possession." 

For  a  few  moments  the  colonel  was  silent.  Then  he  asked, 
"Is  there  any  danger  of  my  being  discovered?" 


PRISONER   IN   THE  NORTH.  191 

"No,  not  any;  for  none  of  your  friends 'would  recognize 
you." 

"  But  how  about  Tom  Jeffords  ?" 

"  I  have  looked  after  him.  I  told  one  of  the  Union  colonels 
that  I  hoped  he  would  not  take  Captain  Jeffords  as  a  speci- 
man  of  Confederate  officers.  He  replied,  '  By  no  means.' 
His  qualities  had  been  gauged  by  his  cowardice,  for  he  was 
dragged  out  of  a  bomb-proof,  and  begged  for  his  life,  pleading 
that  he  had  always  been  a  strong  Union  man.  He  was  cut 
short  and  told  to  shut  up  his  infernal  bosh.  You  are  aware 
that  the  Federal  people  hate  a  coward,  and  detest  a  man  who 
is  parading  his  Union  principles,  yet  strikes  a  blow  whenever 
he  can.  Jeffords  will  be  sent  North  with  the  first  batch  of 
prisoners,  and  I  hope  never  to  see  him  again.  Both  of  us 
will  also  go  North  as  soon  as  your  wounds  permit  of  your 
being  removed." 

The  naturally  strong  constitution  of  Colonel  MacKenzie 
aided  in  his  recovery,  and  he  made  rapid  progress.  One 
afternoon,  a  week  after  the  capture  of  the  fort,  while  he  was 
lying  in  a  cot  in  a  casemate,  surrounded  by  a  number  of  other 
wounded  men,  several  naval  officers  from  the  fleet  entered  the 
apartment.  x\s  this  was  a  daily  occurrence,  no  attention  was 
paid  to  them  by  the  others,  but  Colonel  MacKenzie  eagerly 
scrutinized  their  faces  to  see  whether  he  could  recognize  any 
of  them.  On  one  of  them  his  gaze  was  fast  riveted.  It  was 
no  other  than  his  old  friend,  the  acting  ensign,  whose  life  he 
had  saved  in  New  Orleans,  and  whom  he  had  not  seen  since 
that  night  of  the  raid  on  Pensacola  Navy- Yard.  If  his  friend 
should  recognize  him,  the  consequences  would  be  certain  death. 
Far  better,  then,  to  have  lain  in  the  traverse  where  he  fell 
than  to  face  trial  by  court-martial  and  suffer  execution  for 
desertion.  His  friend  came  straight  up  to  him  and  asked  if 
he  could  do  any  thing  for  him.  The  agony  felt  by  the  colonel 
at  that  moment  showed  itself  on  his  countenance.  The  officer, 
observing  it,  said, — 

"  You  are  suffering ;  command  ray  services.  Would  you 
like  a  glass  of  water  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  faint  reply. 

The  water  was  procured,  and  in  a  few  moments  his  friend 
left  him,  having  failed  to  recognize  him.  This  fact  was  very 
assuring  to  the  colonel.      If  his  bosom  friend  failed  to  detect 


192  ILIAN. 

in  his  face  any  resemblance  to  the  acting  master  of  two  years 
ago,  then  he  was  safe. 

Dr.  Rechard,  when  he  heard  of  this  event  as  it  was  related 
to  him  in  a  whisper  shortly  after,  replied,  "  Why  should  he 
recognize  you?  He  thinks  you  dead  and  buried.  Take 
courage,  and  all  will  be  well." 

In  the  middle  of  February  Colonel  MacKenzie,  with  other 
wounded  Confederates,  was  sent  North,  where,  on  arrival,  he 
was  taken  to  a  hospital  for  treatment.  While  there  he  was 
visited  by  Ilian,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  four  months.  She 
informed  him  that  she  had  been  reported  to  Mr.  Stanton,  the 
Secretary  of  War,  and  by  his  orders  was  sent  to  Fort  Lafayette 
for  a  month.  She  had  been  finally  released  upon  giving  her 
solemn  promise  not  to  return  South  till  the  war  was  over. 
She  was  now  endeavoring  to  procure  the  exchange  or  release 
of  the  colonel  and  Dr.  Rechard.  Then  they  could  sail  for 
Europe.  She  was  closely  watched  by  detectives  of  the  secret 
service  of  the  Union,  and  twice  had  been  interrogated  by 
Pinkerton  himself,  the  chief  of  the  service.  Every  luxury 
that  money  could  purchase  was  now  placed  at  the  disposal  of 
her  two  friends. 

On  the  31st  of  March  orders  were  received  to  send  Colonel 
Andrew  MacKenzie  and  Dr.  Rechard  to  Elmira,  where  there 
were  a  large  number  of  Southern  prisoners.  They  set  out 
under  guard  that  evening  by  the  North  River  steamer  for 
Albany.  On  their  arrival  there  the  colonel  was  found  to  be 
too  much  exhausted  to  continue  the  journey,  and  for  nearly 
a  month  he  was  dangerously  ill.  The  wound  in  his  left  side 
gave  him  severe  pain.  Ilian  wrote  every  day  from  Washing- 
ton, and  strove  hard  to  procure  their  release.  She  had  ascer- 
tained that  the  author  of  the  letter  that  had  caused  her  arrest 
was  Tom  Jeffords,  and  added  that  she  would  not  forget  it 
when  her  turn  came. 

On  the  3d  of  May  the  colonel  had  sufficiently  recovered  to 
proceed  to  Elmira,  where  they  arrived  late  at  night.  The 
next  morning  he  was  disquieted  and  alarmed  at  receiving  a 
visit  from  Tom  Jeffords,  who  expressed  delight  at  meeting  an 
old  comrade  with  whom  he  had  fought  side  by  side  in  the 
great  battle  of  Fort  Fisher,  and  ended  by  asking  the  loan  of 
one  hundred  dollars,  with  the  reiterated  promise  that  it,  with 
the  other  loans,  would  be  repaid  when  the  long-delayed  draft 


PRISONER   IN   THE  NORTH.  103 

came  from  his  uncle.  He  obtained  the  amount,  and  for  a  few- 
days  the  colonel  was  at  peace.  Tom  now  felt  certain  that  he 
had  struck  a  paying  claim,  and  he  resolved  to  work  the  mine 
for  all  that  it  was  worth.  If  he  could  only  verify  his  suspi- 
cions, then  there  would  be  big  dividends  for  the  purchase  of 
his  silence.  He  surmised  that  Sam  would  be  a  good  subject 
to  get  points  from. 

Meeting  him  alone  one  day,  he  said,  "  Sam,  do  you  know 
it  does  my  heart  good  to  meet  an  old  veteran  like  yourself ! 
When  we  stand  together  in  battle  the  color  of  one's  skin  does 
not  make  any  difference  in  stopping  the  enemies'  bullets." 

"  Dat's  so,  Massa  Jeffords,"  answered  Sam  ;  "  and  some 
folks  has  a  pow'i'ul  way  ob  getting  out  ob  de  range,  and  dey 
lets  'em  strike  oder  people." 

The  captain  turned  red  at  this  allusion  to  his  own  conduct 
at  Fort  Fisher.  Sam,  he  perceived,  did  not  take  kindly  to 
flattery,  so  he  tried  other  tactics. 

"  Sam,"  said  he,  "your  master.  Colonel  MacKenzie,  is  very 
much  like  an  old  friend  of  mine,  a  college-mate  who  went 
into  the  Union  navy  as  an  ofl&cer  and  suddenly  disappeared ; 
in  fict,  was  reported  to  have  died  of  yellow-fever.  If,  now, 
you  will  help  me  find  out  whether  your  master  is  the  same 
person,  once  called  Adrien  Homerand,  I  will  give  you  a 
thousand  dollars.     This  will  make  you  a  rich  man." 

Sam's  eyes  fairly  flashed  fire  as  he  indignantly  retorted, 
"What  you  done  gone  take  dis  nigger  for?  You  tinks  I 
was  anoder  Judas  what  betrays  his  master.  I  hear  you  one 
day  in  Fort  Fisher  make  dat  inference  to  de  colonel,  and  I 
don't  gone  and  forgotten  de  answer.  Now,  Massa  Jeffords, 
Colonel  MacKenzie  am  an  Englishman  ob  eddercation,  and  he 
hab  proved  his  bravery  in  de  battle  by  standing  at  de  head  ob 
his  men.  He  am  no  bomb-proof  hider  what  looks  after  his  pre- 
cious carcass  when  de  Bullets  and  broken  shot  am  flyin'  'round. 
I  consider  dat  my  dignity  am  lowered  by  de  furder  conversa- 
tion wid  a  man  who  am  covered  all  over  wid  de  cotton  ob  de 
bales  he  hugs  so  close  in  de  day  when  de  fightin'  am  going  on." 

With  this  parting  shot,  Sam  turned  on  his  heels  and  left  the 
captain  indulging  in  profane  language  which  we  dare  not  repeat, 

Tom  from  time  to  time  borrowed  more  money  from  Colonel 
MacKenzie,  for  which  he  gave  him  further  "  words  of  honor  " 
to  repay. 

-i        n  17  ' 


194  ILIAN. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FATE    OF   THE    BLACKMAILER. 

On  the  morning  of  the  10th  of  June  the  Federal  officer 
commanding  the  detail  of  soldiers  guarding  the  Southern 
prisoners  sent  for  Colonel  MacKenzie,  and  told  him  he  had 
just  received  telegraphic  news  that  the  orders  for  his  release 
and  also  that  of  Dr.  Rechard  had  been  sent,  and  would  prob- 
ably arrive  by  the  noon  mail.  He  would  be  free  in  the  mean 
time  to  leave  the  prison,  and  he  would  himself  be  happy  if  he 
would  take  breakfast  with  him.  The  colonel's  arm  was  still 
in  a  sling,  and  he  looked  pale  and  haggard. 

After  breakfast  he  went  back  to  his  room  and  told  Dr. 
Rechard  of  the  good  news,  and  added  that  he  purposed  to  go 
to  Buffalo  at  once  in  order  to  get  away  from  Jeffords.  He 
would  await  his  arrival  there  with  the  release-papers,  and  Ilian 
could  join  them  there  or  in  Canada.  The  doctor  did  not 
think  it  prudent  for  the  colonel  to  go  alone,  but  he  urged  it 
strongly,  pleading  that  it  would  throw  Tom  off  the  scent  if 
they  left  Elmira  singly.  It  was  then  agreed  that  they  should 
meet  at  the  National  Hotel,  in  Buffalo,  that  evening.  Not 
being  burdened  with  extra  baggage,  he  then  set  out  for  the 
gate  with  his  pass  in  his  pocket.  Half-way  across  the  parade- 
ground  he  met  Tom,  who  boldly  demanded  another  hundred 
dollars. 

The  colonel  replied  that  he  only  had  ninety  dollars  to  his 
name  and  could  not  spare  it. 

"  Perhaps,"  was  the  sneering  answer,  "  you  will  spare  a 
much  larger  sum  to  defend  yourself  frotn  the  charge  of  being 
a  deserter  from  the  Federal  navy." 

A  scornful  glance  was  the  only  reply  of  the  colonel. 

"  Well,"  continued  Jeffords,  "  Piukerton  will  let  me  have 
the  money  I  want.  I  hear  that  one  of  his  agents  is  in  town 
and  pays  liberally  for  information  of  this  kind." 

"  Then  go  to  him,"  was  the  laconic  answer.  The  colonel 
turned  to  go  back  to  his  quarters.  It  would  never  do  to  let 
this  man  know  that  the  order  for  his  release  was  coming. 


FATE   OF  THE  BLACKMAILER.  105 

^  "  Oh,  colonel,  I  was  only  joking,"  said  Tom,  who  followed 
him.  "  The  fact  is,  that  I  am  nearly  wild.  I  have  been 
gambling,  and  have  a  chance  to  win  back  all  I  have  lost, 
and  a  cool  hundred  will  just  do  it." 

It  was  a  critical  moment  to  the  colonel,  and  a  delay  might 
be  dangerous.  He  decided  to  lend  the  money.  "  Well,  cap- 
tain, here  are  ninety  dollars.  It  is  all  I  have,  I  assure  you, 
on  my  word  of  honor." 

"  No  use,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I  must  have  a  full  hundred." 

"  Here  are  a  pair  of  sleeve-buttons,"  was  the  answer. 
"  You  can  borrow  ten  dollars  on  them.  I  value  them  highly." 
Well  he  might,  for  they  were  set  with  diamonds  and  were  a 
present  from  Ilian. 

Tom  took  them,  together  with  the  money,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  afterwards  the  colonel  was  outside  of  the  prison  en- 
closure, a  free  man.  He  hastened  at  once  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion. There  he  realized  what  had  escaped  him  in  the  excite- 
ment of  getting  rid  of  Tom  Jeffords.  He  had  not  a  dollar 
to  pay  his  fare.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  station  in  a 
bewildered  state  of  mind.  To  go  back  to  the  prison  and  get 
money  from  Dr.  Rechard  would  be  to  expose  himself  to 
further  blackmail  from  his  relentless  persecutor.  But  with- 
out money  and  in  the  uniform  of  the  Confederacy,  how  could 
he  get  to  Buffalo  ?  A  few  minutes  later  a  train  from  the 
South  came  in,  and  it  would  remain  half  an  hour  before  start- 
ing. He  resolved  to  try  the  conductor  for  a  free  pass.  Going 
up  to  him,  he  told  him  that  he  had  lost  his  pocket-book  and 
was  anxious  to  get  to  Buffalo,  where  he  had  friends.  He 
showed  him  his  permit  for  leaving  the  prison.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  Union  officers  on  the  platform,  who,  seeing  a  Con- 
federate colonel  with  his  arm  in  a  sling  and  learning  his  con- 
dition, went  up  at  once  and  took  his  hand,  saying, — 

"  Colonel,  we  met, in  the  field  as  enemies,  now  we  meet  as 
friends.     Our  pocket-books  are  at  your  service." 

A  large  crowd  gathered  round,  and  fifty  persons  offered  to 
pay  for  his  ticket.  The  station-master,  hearing  of  his  case, 
wrote  out  a  complimentary  pass  to  Buffalo.  The  loan  of  money 
was  freely  tendered  on  every  hand.  This  he  absolutely  de- 
clined, but  accepted  the  offer  of  refreshments.  He  was  escorted 
to  the  railway  coach,  and,  amidst  a  grand  ovation,  the  train 
moved  on.      This  exhibition  of  kindly  feeling  should  have 


196  ILIAN. 

convinced  the  most  rabid  fire-eater  of  the  South  that  the 
Northern  people  had  not  been  inspired  by  any  malicious  or 
revengeful  disposition.     We  must  now  return  to  the  prison. 

Two  hours  after  the  colonel's  departure,  Tom  Jeffords,  with 
a  flushed  face  and  his  eyes  blazino;  with  excitement,  sought 
the  apartment  of  Dr.  Rechard.  He  found  him  alone,  busily 
writing.     Without  any  attempt  at  courtesy,  he  said,  abruptly, — 

"  Doctor,  I  have  just  heard  that  Colonel  MacKenzie  has 
been  released  from  prison." 

"  Yes,"  was  the  calm  reply ;  "  and  he  sails  in  a  few  days  for 
his  home  in  England." 

"  Home  in  England  be  hans:ed !"  was  the  savage  reply. 
*'  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  his  home  is  in  Boston  with 
his  Aither,  Professor  Homerand.  I  hope  you  don't  take  me 
for  a  fool.  Now  listen  to  my  ultimatum  :  I  got  ninety  dollars 
and  a  pair  of  sleeve-buttons  this  morning  from  your  'colonel,' 
as  you  call  him,  and  I  have  lost  it  all  and  must  have  more. 
Silence  is  golden,  and  mine  must  be  purchased.  I  want  my 
freedom  and  five  thousand  dollars  in  gold  coin.  Then  I  swear 
to  keep  silent  forever.  If  you  fail  I  will  give  th's  written 
statement  of  facts  which  I  now  hold  in  my  hand  to  the  officer 
in  command  of  this  prison.  The  colonel  has  not  gone  so  far 
but  that  he  can  be  promptly  arrested.  You  will  also  be  tried 
for  enticing  a  Union  officer  away  from  his  duty,  and  in  the 
present  temper  of  the  Northern  people  you  will  both  sufi*er 
the  death-penalty." 

Dr.  Rechard  saw  the  danger,  and  felt  that  he  must  at  all 
hazards  save  his  friend.  He  told  Jeffords  that  he  was  wrong 
in  his  surmise,  and  as  to  five  thousand  dollars,  that  was  absurd. 
He  was  willing  to  help  an  old  comrade  of  the  war,  but  the 
sum  named  was  too  large. 

"  Then  here  goes  for  Pinkerton.  He  will  pay  me  my  price." 
And  the  captain,  holding  in  his  hand  the  incriminating  state- 
ment, started  for  the  commandant's  quarters,  situated  by  the 
side  of  the  large  gate,  which  then  stood  wide  open,  but  was 
well  guarded  by  sentries. 

The  doctor  rushed  after  him  and  cried  out,  "  Stop,  Captain 
Jeffords  !     Don't  take  that  rash  step." 

One  of  the  sentinels  near  the  doctor's  apartment,  seeing  a 
prisoner  running  towards  the  gate,  and  hearing  the  call  for 
him  to  stop,  at  once  supposed  that  an  escape  was  intended. 


FATE  OF  THE  BLACKMAILER.  197 

He  brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  called,  "  Halt !"  The 
captain,  thinking  it  was  the  doctor  repeating  his  demand,  told 
him  to  go  to  a  "  certain  hot  place."  The  orders  in  regard  to 
prisoners  were  very  strict.  The  sentry  had  no  other  option 
but  to  fire,  which  he  promptly  did. 

The  report  of  the  musket  rang  all  over  the  prison  enclosure, 
creating  the  greatest  excitement.  Tom  Jeffords  suddenly  halted, 
reeled,  and  then  fell  prostrate  on  his  face.  Dr.  Rechard,  with 
great  presence  of  mind,  hurried  up  to  him,  and  adroitly  taking 
the  paper  from  his  clinched  hand,  put  it  in  his  own  pocket. 
He  then  felt  his  pulse,  but  it  had  stopped.  Blood  was  issuing 
out  of  his  mouth  and  nostrils.  The  bullet  had  gone  through 
his  heart,  and  the  spirit  of  the  blackmailer  went  to  the  bar 
of  judgment. 

When  the  officer  of  the  day  came  up  and  asked  for  the 
cause  of  the  shooting.  Dr.  Rechard  told  him  that  he  was  him- 
self writing  a  love-letter,  and  the  dead  man  had  snatched  it 
oflf  his  desk  in  order  to  show  it  to  his  brother  officers  for  the 
purpose  of  ridicule.  As  he  called  him  back,  the  sentry,  naturally 
supposing  that  he  was  trying  to  escape,  had  fired  to  frighten 
him,  and  the  bullet  had  finished  his  career. 

A  court  of  inquiry  was  at  once  ordered  to  investigate  the 
matter.  Dr.  Rechard  went  to  his  room,  wrote  a  love-letter 
to  some  imaginary  girl,  and  then  crumpled  it  up.  This  was 
produced  in  the  court,  and  created  a  smile  of  amusement  when 
it  was  read. 

The  verdict  was  short,  viz.,  that  Captain  Thomas  Jeffords 
had  met  his  death  in  pursuance  of  military  orders  in  conse- 
quence of  disobeying  the  sentry.     At  sundown  he  was  buried. 

The  commandant  sent  for  the  doctor  at  noon  and  handed 
him  all  the  discharge-papers,  and  oflFered  any  assistance  in 
his  power.  In  speaking  of  the  dead  man,  he  told  him  that 
he  had  no  regret  for  the  affair.  He  heartily  despised  him  for 
several  base  acts  of  cowardice  while  in  the  prison. 

'*  I  hope,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that  you  don't  take  him  as  a 
sample  of  the  men  who  fought  for  State  rights." 

"  Far  from  it,"  the  officer  answered.  "  I  have  had  a  large 
experience  with  Southern  officers,  and  I  can  testify  that,  as  a 
rule,  they  are  gentlemen,  generous  to  a  fault,  and  brave  in  bat- 
tle ;  and  now  that  the  war  is  ended,  I  hope  fraternal  feeling 
will  prevail." 

17* 


198  ILIAN. 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  good  opinion,"  replied  the  doctor, 
"  and  also  for  the  extreme  courtesy  shown  me  in  this  place." 

As  Dr.  Rechard  was  leaving,  a  telegram  was  handed  to  him. 
It  was  from  Ilian,  and  informed  him  that  she  would  be  due 
at  two  o'clock.  She  wanted  the  doctor  and  the  colonel  to 
meet  her,  prepared  to  go  on  to  Buffalo. 

His  preparations  did  not  take  long.  He  met  the  train 
punctually,  and  gave  Ilian  a  full  account  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened. They  sent  a  telegraphic  message  to  the  colonel  at 
Buifalo  that  they  would  be  due  there  about  nine  o'clock. 

At  ten  minutes  before  three  both  were  speeding  on  their 
way. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

ALL   ADRIFT. 


We  must  now  go  back  to  Colonel  MacKenzie.  He  received 
every  attention  possible  from  the  conductor  and  the  Union  offi- 
cers on  board  the  train.  On  his  arrival  at  Buffalo  they  offered 
to  pay  for  a  carriage,  but  he  declined.  His  friend's  house  was 
only  a  short  distance  away,  and  he  preferred  to  walk  there. 
Bidding  them  all  good-by,  and  with  many  thanks  for  their 
kindness,  he  left  the  station.  He  was  very  much  excited  by 
the  apprehension  of  what  Tom  Jeffords  would  do  when  he 
should  have  learned  that  he  had  left  the  prison.  It  would  be 
unsafe,  he  thought,  for  him  to  go  to  the  hotel  appointed  by 
Dr.  Rechard.  Detectives  might  be  waiting  there  to  arrest 
him.  Accordingly,  he  wandered  up  one  street  and  down 
another,  looking  anxiously  into  the  faces  of  the  policemen 
whenever  he  met  them.  His  uniform  attracted  attention,  and 
he  expected  to  hear  each  moment  one  of  them  say,  "  I  arrest 
you  for  desertion." 

When  it  became  dark  he  found  himself  near  the  lake.  The 
tall  masts  of  the  shipping  loomed  up  in  the  starlight.  Before 
him  was  a  gate  leading  into  a  lumber-yard.  It  was  partly 
open.  He  went  in  and  sat  down.  He  was  ill  and  weary,  and 
thought  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  throw  himself  into 
the  lake  and  there  find  rest  from  his  troubles. 


ALL   ADRIFT.  199 

Sleep  came  to  alleviate  his  sorrows.  He  slept  soundly,  but 
his  dreams  were  troubled.  He  imagined  that  Captain  Jeffords 
had  obtained  proof  of  his  identity  and  informed  against  him. 
His  arrest  and  trial  followed.  He  saw  the  faces  of  his  former 
messmates  in  the  court-room,  with  his  commanding  officer  as 
president  of  the  court.  After  the  evidence  was  taken,  he 
heard  them  one  by  one  pronounce  the  verdict  '•  Guilty."  Sen- 
tence then  followed,  viz.,  "  That  Adrien  Homerand,  alias 
Colonel  Andrew  MacKenzie,  should  be  beheaded,  and  his  head 
placed  on  the  prison-gates  at  Elmira  for  a  warning  to  others." 
He  realized  being  led  to  execution  ;  the  chief  boatswain's 
mate  of  his  late  ship  held  a  sharpened  cutlass  to  perform  the 
decapitation.  Close  at  his  side  he  saw  the  mocking  face  of 
Tom  Jeffords  jeering  at  him,  and  asking  how  many  hundred 
dollars  he  would  give  to  save  his  life.  Slowly  the  bright  blade 
was  raised,  and  he  bowed  his  head  to  receive  the  stroke. 
Quickly  the  steel  descended,  but  the  executioner  brought  it 
down  on  the  neck  of  Tom  Jeffords,  whose  head  rolled  at  his 
feet.  He  immediately  seized  it  with  his  hands  ;  it  felt  soft, 
and  then  seemed  all  of  a  sudden  to  go  to  pieces. 

There  was  the  headless  form  before  him,  but  all  the  wit- 
nesses had  suddenly  vanished  ;  even  the  executioner  had  gone. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  He  was  wide  awake  and  standing  on 
his  feet ;  the  moon  lit  up  everything  with  a  pale  light,  and 
showed  him  the  lumber-yard  and  in  his  hands  a  red  handker- 
chief. "  A  dream,  after  all,"  he  said  to  himself.  But  who 
was  this  man  by  his  side  ?  Raising  a  coat  which  covered  his 
head,  to  his  astonishment  he  saw  that  it  was  a  sailor,  and  the 
fumes  of  liquor  that  came  from  him  gave  evidence  that  he 
was  sleeping  off  a  drunken  carousal.  The  bundle  he  had 
held  in  his  hands,  and  which  in  his  dream  he  thought  was  the 
head  of  Jeffords,  contained  a  blue  shirt  and  trousers.  They 
were  lying  at  his  feet.  The  man  had  apparently  entered  by 
the  same  gate  as  himself,  and  seeing  some  one  else  asleep,  had 
lain  down  beside  him  with  the  bundle  for  a  pillow.  A  bright 
idea  now  came  to  the  colonel.  He  would  exchange  his  uniform 
for  the  sailor's  clothes  and  then  go  forth  and  seek  employment 
on  some  vessel,  and  thus  reach  the  Canadian  shore.  It  took 
but  a  few  minutes  to  make  the  transfer ;  the  man  being  of  his 
own  size,  they  fitted  to  a  charm.  He  carefully  wrapped  the 
uniform  up  and  placed  it  in  the  handkerchief,  and  exchanging 


200  ILIAN. 

his  felt  hat  for  the  sailor's  cap,  he  left  the  lumber-yard.  He 
walked  down  to  the  end  of  a  long  pier,  where  he  found  a  large 
schooner  called  the  "  Michigan,"  of  Cleveland.  He  sat  down 
to  await  some  sign  of  life  on  the  vessel.  His  left  arm  pained 
him  so  badly  that  he  had  to  keep  it  in  a  sling.  It  was  not 
long  before  the  sun  came  up,  and  with  it  he  heard  voices  on  the 
schooner.  From  the  orders  given  he  knew  that  she  was  about 
to  leave.  The  captain,  seeing  a  dignified  man  with  a  pale  face 
and  in  the  garb  of  a  sailor,  came  to  him  and  asked  if  he  was 
seeking  employment.  He  replied  in  the  aflfirmative,  and  that 
he  was  formerly  a  ship-master,  but  had  met  with  a  great  deal 
of  misfortune  and  had  sprained  his  arm.  He  would,  however, 
do  what  duty  he  was  able.  The  captain  told  him  he  needed 
a  second  officer,  and  if  he  would  take  the  position  he  would  be 
glad  to  have  him  do  so.  The  offer  was  accepted,  and  he  was 
at  once  installed.  Able  seamen  were  scarce,  competent  officers 
more  so,  as  the  war  had  furnished  them  other  employment. 

The  new  second  mate  was  not  long  in  giving  a  sample  of 
his  qualities.  His  voice  and  manner  commanded  respect  and 
obedience,  and  before  the  schooner  was  five  miles  from  port 
the  captain  congratulated  himself  upon  his  lucky  acquisition  of 
such  a  thorough  officer.  The  vessel  was  bound  for  Cleveland, 
and  we  must  now  leave  her  to  plough  her  way  over  Lake  Erie, 
and  return  to  Ilian. 

The  doctor  and  herself,  with  her  maid,  arrived  at  Buffalo  in 
due  season,  and  were  bitterly  disappointed  at  not  finding  the 
colonel  at  the  hotel.  They  supposed  he  had  gone  to  some 
other  house,  and  concluded  to  wait  until  next  day  before 
searching  for  him.  Early  in  the  morning  messengers  were 
sent  to  every  hotel  in  the  city,  but  no  news  could  be  had 
of  him.  The  case  was  laid  before  the  chief  of  police,  and 
a  reward  was  offered  for  information.  The  conductor  of 
the  train  certified  that  he  had  left  the  station  immediately 
on  arrival,  but  from  that  moment  no  trace  could  be  had  of 
the  missing  colonel.  At  noon  word  was  brought  that  a  man 
had  been  arrested  dressed  in  sailor's  garments,  but  with  a 
Confederate  officer's  felt  hat  and  a  suit  of  clothes  evidently 
belonging  to  a  colonel  of  artillery,  and  hence  was  supposed  to 
be  an  escaped  prisoner  of  war.  The  doctor  went  to  the  police 
court,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  prisoner  was  a  genuine 
sailor,  and  a  man-of-war's  man  at  that.     In  looking  at  the 


ALL  ADRIFT.  201 

UDiform,  he  at  once  recognized  it  as  belonging  to  Colonel  Mac- 
Kenzie.  The  frank  manner  of  the  seaman  gave  credibility  to 
his  statement  of  who  he  was  and  how  he  became  possessed  of 
the  colonel's  uniform. 

When  the  officer  who  made  the  arrest  preferred  the  accusa- 
tion before  the  police  justice  against  the  sailor  of  being  an 
escaped  Confederate  officer,  the  look  of  amazement  on  his  face 
was  intense. 

"  That  be  blowed  for  a  yarn  !"  was  his  answer.  "  What 
racket  are  you  on,  anyhow  ?  I  have  been  shipmate  with  all  sorts 
of  queer  characters  in  my  time,  but  I  am  blessed  if  ever  I 
was  shipmate  with  a  rebel  colonel.  Some  one  has  swapped 
those  gray  duds  for  my  mustering-suit ;  I  have  just  been  dis- 
charged from  the  United  States  steamship  '  Brooklyn.'  My 
discharge-papers  were  in  the  pocket  of  that  suit.  I  arrived 
here  yesterday  direct  from  New  York,  and  sent  the  balance  of 
my  things  home  to  Detroit  by  express.  I  had  perhaps  a  little 
more  whiskey  aboard  than  I  could  very  well  curry,  so  I  short- 
ened sail  and  came  to  anchor  in  a  lumber-yard.  At  daylight 
this  morning  I  got  under  way  and  shaped  my  course  for  "the 
railway  station.  I  did  not  notice  that  my  head-gear  had  rebel 
colors  flying.  When  this  'ere  bobby  hove  to  along-side  and 
demanded  my  clearance-papers,  I  opened  my  bundle  and  found 
my  blue  clothes  had  turned  gray  and  my  papers  were  gone." 

The  explanation  of  Dr.  Rechard  threw  light  upon  the  sub- 
ject. He  said  that  Colonel  MacKenzie  had  been  very  ill, 
and  no  doubt  in  this  condition  had  gone  to  the  lumber-yard, 
exchanged  clothes  with  the  sailor,  and  perhaps  sailed  in  some 
vessel. 

^  The  seaman  was  at  once  discharged,  and  the  doctor  paid 
him  fifty  dollars  for  the  colonel's  uniform  and  to  compensate 
for  the  annoyance.  This  so  delighted  him  that  he  volunteered 
to  join  in  the  search  fn-  the  lost  man.  He  struck  the  trail 
with  a  seaman's  instinct.  In  one  hour  after  he  brought  word 
to  the  doctor  at  his  hotel  that  the  schooner  "  Michigan  "  had 
sailed  for  Cleveland  at  seven  o'clock,  and,  before  leaving,  her 
captain  had  shipped  a  Mr.  Andrews  for  second  mate,  and, 
moreover,  that  his  arm  was  in  a  sling,  and  he  was  dressed  in 
blue  shirt  and  trousers  of  the  kind  worn  by  seamen  in  the 
United  States  navy.  The  schooner  would  reach  Cleveland  in 
about  forty-eight  hours.     Another  fifty  dollars  was  paid  for 


202  ILIAN. 

this  information,  and  a  promise  made  him  that  the  discharge- 
papers  would  be  mailed  to  the  post-office  at  Detroit  when  re- 
covered from  'the  colonel.  The  sailor  went  on  his  way, 
rejoicing  at  his  "  prize-money,"  as  he  called  it, 

Ilian  and  the  doctor  left  the  following  morning  for  Cleve- 
land to  meet  the  vessel  on  which  they  had  no  doubf  the 
colonel  had  sailed.  They  were  both  of  them  mystified  at  his 
conduct,  and  supposed  it  was  owing  to  aberration  resulting 
from  his  severe  illness.  Indeed,  Ilian  was  ill  herself  All 
her  well-laid  plans  had  failed.  General  Lee  had  surrendered, 
Jefferson  Davis  was  a  prisoner  at  Fortress  Monroe,  and  the 
war  had  virtually  come  to  an  end.  Over  half  of  her  fortune 
had  been  spent  in  the  Lost  Cause,  and  her  dream  of  the 
triple  stars  of  a  lieutenant-general  on  the  shoulders  of  her 
lover  was  utterly  dissipated.  The  man  whom  in  the  hour  of 
his  illness  and  weakness  she  had  coerced  away  from  his  duty 
to  the  flag  that  he  had  sworn  to  defend  was  now  a  fugitive 
from  the  terror  of  that  retribution  that  was  due  as  a  penalty 
for  his  crime.  She  asked  herself  the  question,  "  Is  life  worth 
living  now  ?" 


CHAPTER    XVL 

THE    OLD    NAME. 


On  one  of  the  piers  bordering  on  the  lake  in  the  stately 
city  of  Cleveland  a  crowd  of  people  had  collected,  watching  a 
large  schooner  hauling  into  her  berth.  It  was  early  in  the 
morning,  but  the  day  was  clear  and  beautiful  A  carriage 
with  a  handsome  span  of  horses  had  been  waiting  for  fully  an 
hour.  The  occupants  were  Dr.  Rechard  and  Ilian.  They 
were  anxiously  looking  at  the  vessel.  It  was  the  "  Michigan," 
and  if  they  were  on  the  wrong  track  it  would  be  necessary 
to  retrace  their  steps  to  Buffalo.  The  minutes  seemed  hours. 
"All  things  will  come  to  him  who  has  but  patience  to  wait," 
was  Dr.  Rechard's  consoling  words  to  some  remark  of  his 
fair  companion. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  but  that  word  patience  signifies  a 


THE   OLD  NAME.  203 

rare  virtue,  and  T  am  afraid  I  have  but  little  of  it.  Sup- 
posing the  colonel  is  not  on  that  vessel,  what  then  ?" 

"  But  he  is  on  her,"  cried  the  doctor.  "  Look  !  is  not  that 
his  form  on  the  poop  ?     Listen  !  can  you  forget  that  voice  ?" 

"  Stand  by  to  take  this  stern-line !  make  fast !"  he  was 
shouting  to  the  men  on  the  pier.  "  Haul  in,  my  lads  ;  haul  in 
merrily  !  belay  all !"  were  his  orders  to  his  own  crew. 

Ilian's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  joy,  and  a  feeling  of  happi- 
ness such  as  she  had  not  known  for  a  long  time  glowed  at  her 
heart.  She  had  found  once  more  the  man  of  her  choice  ;  and 
nothing  but  death,  she  resolved,  should  part  them  again. 

When  the  schooner  was  made  fast,  a  gang-plank  was  put 
on  board.  The  captain  and  his  crew  were  amazed  to  see  a 
beautiful  woman,  escorted  by  a  dignified  gentleman,  rush  into 
the  arms  of  the  second  mate,  and  heard  them  address  him, — 

"  My  dear  eolonel,  we  are  delighted  to  have  found  you." 

While  Ilian  and  the  colonel  were  having  mutual  explana- 
tions, the  doctor  told  the  captain  that  the  whole  affair  was  a 
result  of  a  wager.  His  friend,  he  said,  was  a  great  yachtsman, 
and  consequently  proficient  in  nautical  affairs.  He  had  made 
a  bet  that  he  would  ship  as  an  officer  with  his  arm  in  a  sling 
for  a  trip  on  the  lake,  and  had  done  so,  and  would  divide  a 
hundred  dollars  among  the  crew.  The  amount  was  accord- 
ingly handed  to  the  captain  for  that  purpose.  The  doctor 
had  also  brought  with  him  a  light  overcoat  and  hat  for  his 
friend  to  hide  his  sailor-clothes.  AVhen  he  put  them  on  he 
bade  the  crew  good-by,  as  also  the  first  officer,  and  then  shook 
the  captain  warmly  by  the  hand,  thanking  him  for  all  his 
kindness. 

The  captain,  with  a  puzzled  expression,  replied,  "  Mr. 
Andrews,  I  am  glad  you  have  won  your  bet,  and  I  must  say 
I  never  thought  it  possible  for  any  yachting  man  to  handle  a 
vessel  and  give  orders  in  such  a  seamanlike  manner  as  you 
have  done.  In  thirty  years'  experience  as  man  and  boy,  I 
have  never  seen  your  superior  on  a  ship's  deck.  I  am  proud 
to  have  had  you  on  board." 

Thus  they  parted,  the  crew  giving  a  hearty  cheer  for  their 
departing  officer. 

On  arrival  at  their  hotel  a  tailor  was  sent  for,  and  by  even- 
ing the  colonel,  for  the  first  time  in  two  years,  was  once  more 
in  citizen's  clothes. 


204  ILIAN. 

Ilian  then,  in  the  presence  of  the  doctor,  said  to  him,  "  Two 
years  ago  you  took  a  solemn  oath  to  keep  the  name  of  Andrew 
MacKenzie  till  the  end  of  the  war  released  you  from  the  obli- 
gation. That  time  has  now  come,  and  Colonel  MacKenzie 
will  hereafter  live  in  history  only,  while  Adrien  Homerand 
comes  to  the  front  as  a  living  being.  My  own  darling,  I  wel- 
come you  back." 

Her  hand  was  placed  in  his,  a  pair  of  dark-blue  eyes  filled 
with  tears  looked  into  his  face,  and  a  voice  as  sweet  as  a  chime 
of  bells  said,  in  a  plaintive  tone, — 

"Adrien,  will  you  forgive  me  for  my  act  of  coercion  and 
for  the  suffering  that  it  has  entailed  upon  you  ?  I  myself 
have  suffered.  I  have  never  known  an  hour  of  peace  since 
that  fatal  day.  Yet  I  did  it  to  save  you  from  certain  death. 
If  you  had  not  taken  that  oath  you  would  have  been  assassi- 
nated by  sundown.  Oh,  say  that  you  will  forgive  me  and  take 
a  terrible  load  off  my  mind  !" 

Slowly  the  beautiful  head  was  pillowed  on  his  bosom,  and 
the  answer  was  whispered  into  her  ears,  "  Ilian,  my  own  sweet, 
lovely  one,  let  the  past  be  buried  in  oblivion.  I  freely  forgive 
as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven.  May  I  now  ask  for  the  payment 
of  the  bond?  The  war  is  ended,  and  I  claim  you  for  my 
promised  bride.      Will  you  be  mine  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  low  response. 

"  Delays  are  dangerous ;  let  the  marriage  take  place 
to-morrow,  and  our  joint  friend.  Dr.  Rechard,  to  whom  we 
both  owe  so  much,  will  witness  our  union." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  but  after  the  wed- 
ding I  will  have  to  leave  you  to  return  to  New  Orleans.  In 
the  mean  time,  I  am  entirely  at  your  service." 

"  Dr.  Rechard,"  said  Adrien,  "  there  are  two  problems  that 
have  been  on  my  mind  all  day  since  I  left  the  schooner.  One, 
as  I  have  already  told  you,  was  the  reason  I  shipped  on  board 
of  her,  viz.,  how  can  the  silence  of  that  blackmailer  be  pur- 
chased effectually  ?  The  other  is,  what  excuse  can  I  make  to 
my  father  and  mother  and  to  my  friends  for  the  announce- 
ment of  my  death  two  years  ago,  and  how  can  I  satisfactorily 
explain  my  whereabouts  during  the  interval  ?" 

"  Both  are  already  solved  for  you.  In  fact,  they  are  easy 
of  solution,  and  all  the  details  of  the  last  problem  are  prepared. 
It  was  my  purpose  to  have  told  you  all  this  after  dinner.     I 


THE  OLD  NAME.  205 

did  not  do  so  this  morninj:^,  as  your  mind  was  too  much 
worked  up,  and  further  excitement  would  not  be  beneficial. 
Make  your  mind  easy  in  regard  to  Tom  Jeffords  ;  his  eternal 
silence  has  been  assured." 

A  doubtful  shake  of  the  head  showed  Adrien's  feeling  in 
regard  to  this  assertion  ;  then,  with  clinched  fists,  he  said,  "  I 
will  never  trust  that  man  while  he  is  living,  and  I  cannot  feel 
safe  till  I  can  place  five  thousand  miles  between  as." 

"  Is  that  all  the  distance  you  want?  I  am  under  the  im- 
pression that  there  are  many  times  that  amount  of  space  be- 
tween you.  Tom's  tongue  will  never  again  ask  for  the  price 
of  his  silence.     He  is  dead  and  buried." 

"  Great  heaven  !  how  did  that  happen  ?"  Adrien  asked. 

The  information  was  duly  given,  and  also  the  fact  that  the 
sleeve-buttons  had  been  recovered. 

"  Then  I  can  breathe  freely  for  the  first  time  in  many 
months,"  said  Adrien.  "  What  a  frightful  incubus  has  been 
removed  from  off  my  mind  !" 

"  Now,"  said  the  doctor,  "  about  the  second  problem.  All 
is  fixed  on  that  point,  as  I  just  stated.  I  have  written  a  letter 
to  your  father,  which  you  are  to  mail  to-morrow,  after  you 
are  married.  It  states  that  in  June,  1863,  you  became  pos- 
sessed of  important  secrets  of  the  Confederate  government. 
You  were  taken  a  prisoner  while  on  special  duty  and  kept  in 
close  confinement.  An  attack  of  yellow-fever  gave  the  oppor- 
tunity of  spreading  the  report  of  your  death,  and  during  the 
two  years  of  your  captivity  you  were  under  a  solemn  obliga- 
tion not  to  make  known  your  place  of  imprisonment  or  to 
betray  the  secrets  that  had  come  into  your  possession  till  the 
war  should  be  ended.  The  individuals  concerned  in  this 
matter  then  took  you  to  Buffalo,  so  as  to  be  near  the  Canadian 
border.  You  were  to  be  set  free  on  the  21st  of  June,  and 
proceed  to  New  York  by  way  of  Cleveland  and  Erie.  You 
also  expected  to  bring  home  as  your  bride  a  young  lady  who 
saved  your  life  and  nursed  you  in  the  yellow-fever.  Now, 
my  dear  Adrien,  this  is  substantially  the  truth  of  the  whole 
affair,  and  will  satisfy  your  parents  ;  and  if  you  go  abroad  for 
a  few  years,  the  excitement  of  your  return  will  die  out  and 
prevent  any  unpleasant  cross-questioning.  I  shall  be  glad 
when  all  is  settled,  for  I  hate  and  despise  falsehood.  Telling 
one  lie  very  often   necessitates  telling  three  more  to  cover  it 

18 


206  ILIAN. 

up.  I  do  not  believe  that  the  end  justifies  the  means,  or  that 
it  is  lawful  to  tell  a  lie  though  good  come  out  of  it.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  I  have  been  compelled  for  the  sake  of  others 
in  the  last  year  or  so  to  depart  from  the  strict  facts  of 
history,  but  I  now  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  propose  fur  the 
rest  of  my  life  to  stick  to  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth." 

The  two  problems  having  been  solved,  the  wedding-eve  was 
spent  by  all  of  the  three  united  friends  in  talking  over  the 
past  and  planning  for  the  future.  The  sky  of  their  horizon 
was  clear  and  there  was  no  sign  of  the  coming  storm, — to  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  the  irony  of  fate,  to  the  friend  the 
deep  anguish  for  the  misfortune  of  the  two  persons  whose 
history  was  interwoven  with  his  own.  The  hours  passed 
away,  midnight  came,  and  they  retired  to  rest. 

The  author  wishes  he  could  end  his  story  here,  and  say  that 
the  hero  and  heroine  were  married  and  lived  to  a  happy  old 
age,  blessed  with  children.  That  is  the  usual  ending  of 
novels.  In  real  life  it  is  often  the  contrary.  I  have  spoken 
of  the  irony  of  fate ;  what  is  it  ?  Citations :  First,  a 
soldier  of  the  late  war  who  passed  unwounded  through  a  hun- 
dred engagements  and  was  discharged  at  the  close  was  killed 
on  his  way  home  by  a  railroad  accident.  Second,  a  sea- 
captain  who  had  followed  the  sea  for  forty  years  was  drowned 
in  a  pond  only  seven  feet  deep.  Other  citations  will  be 
found  in  the  further  history  of  llian  and  Adrien. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PAYMENT    OF    THE    BOND. 

The  morning  of  the  21st  of  June  was  ushered  in  with  a 
clear  sky,  and  gave  tokens  of  an  ideal  summer  day.  llian, 
Adrien,  and  the  doctor  met  at  the  breakfast-table  in  a  cheer- 
ful frame  of  mind.  They  each  had  a  peculiar  dream  the 
night  previous,  and  for  a  while  the  subject  of  conversation 
was  dreams  in  general,  their  nature,  their  origin,  and  their 
tendencies.     The  doctor  was  requested  to  tell  his  dream  first. 


PAYMENT  OF  THE  BOND.  207 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  that  Adrien  and  myself  were  out 
walking.  A  heavy  fog  set  in,  and  we  lost  sight  of  each  other. 
I  wandered  all  over  the  city  in  search  of  him  ;  then  I  came 
back  to  the  hotel,  but  could  not  find  him,  so  I  continued  the 
search.  Somehow  I  found  myself  back  in  New  Orleans,  and 
then  it  seemed  that  several  years  had  passed ;  but  I  never  saw 
you  again.  This  dream,  I  judge,  was  a  sort  of  reaction  after 
our  hunt  for  you  in  Buffalo." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Adrien,  "  let  me  ask  you,  do  you  believe  in 
presentiments  or  premonitions,  as  they  are  called  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Dr.  Rechard ;  '•  most  of  such  feel- 
ings are  the  result  of  indigestion.  If  you  had  an  unpleasant 
dream  last  night,  it  came,  no  doubt,  from  that  lobster-salad 
which  we  had  for  dinner." 

"  Then  you  do  not  accept  the  theory  that  coming  events 
cast  their  shadows  before  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  But  there  are  some  startling  citations  that  can  be  brought 
forward  to  substantiate  this  notion." 

"  Merely  coincidences  ;  nothing  more.  But  let  us  hear 
where  your  mind  wandered  last  night  in  dream-land." 

"  Well,  I  dreamed  that  Ilian  and  myself  got  into  two  differ- 
ent boats,  as  a  single  one  was  not  able  to  support  us.  both. 
We  lashed  them  together  for  greater  safety,  and  pushed  from 
the  shore  to  cross  a  stormy  river.  Half-way  over,  a  violent 
wave  broke  our  fastenings,  and  we  drifted  apart  and  lost  sight 
of  each  other  in  the  darkness.  The  agony  of  the  moment 
awoke  me  from  the  dream." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  wonder  at  such  a  dream,"  answered  the 
doctor;  "you  two  have  been  separated  from  each  other  so 
often  during  the  last  four  years.  Now,  however,  that  you 
are  to  be  married  within  three  hours,  there  will  be  no 
more  drifting  apart.  I  must  say.  Miss  Mordine,  that  you 
look  too  gloomy  for  a  bride  on  her  wedding-day.  Have 
you  also  been  a  victim  to  the  lobster-salad,  or  did  your  dream 
accord  with  Adrien's,  and  you  dreamed  that  you  found  him 
again  r 

"  No,  it  did  not.  My  dream  was  very  unpleasant ;  and  I 
think  it  better  not  to  relate  it,  as  it  refers  to  a  past  episode 
that  I  prefer  should  be  forgotten." 

"Ah  !"  exclaimed  the  doctor ;  "  I  knew  that  salad  would 


208  ILIAN. 

leave  unpleasant  results  behind.  But  go  on.  Now  that  you 
have  excited  our  curiosity,  we  object  to  being  left  in  a  state 
of  expectancy." 

"All  right ;  but  if  a  cold  chill  comes  over  you  when  you 
hear  the  dream  do  not  blame  me." 

"'  Cold  chill,'  did  you  say?  Well,  it  will  not  be  out  of 
place,  for  a  cold  wave  would  be  very  refreshing  this  warm 
morning.  Now  we  are  all  attention,  and  I  will  use  this  fan 
to  ward  off  the  chill  which  you  prognosticate." 

"  In  my  dream,"  said  she,  "  I  thought  that  I  was  in  New 
Orleans,  and  was  rehearsing  that  oath  of  coercion.  I  held 
the  dagger  hair-pin  to  Adrien's  throat  to  make  him  swear  to 
join  the  Confederate  cause,  when  some  one  violently  pushed 
my  arm,  and  the  steel  went  into  his  neck.  I  looked  around 
to  see  who  had  dared  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  beheld  the 
mocking  face  of  Colonel  Hortense.  I  raised  the  dagger  to 
drive  it  into  his  heart,  when  he  warded  off  the  blow,  and  it 
went  into  my  own  breast.  I  looked  to  see  whether  Adrien 
was  hurt,  but  he  had  vanished.  Then  I  seemed  to  be  alone 
in  a  wild  valley,  and  I  was  calling,  with  tears  streaming  down 
my  face,  for  Adrien  to  come  and  show  me  the  way  out.  At 
last  I  heard  his  voice  from  one  of  the  highest  peaks,  which 
was  capped  with  snow,  and  the  clouds  were  around  it.  I  at 
once  began  to  climb  up  to  where  he  was,  and,  after  a  weari- 
some toil,  I  had  almost  reached  the  spot,  when  my  foot  slipped 
and  I  went  over  a  precipice  and  had  the  terrible  sensation  of 
falling,  when  suddenly  I  was  caught  by  a  strong  hand  ;  but 
before  I  could  recognize  my  deliverer  I  became  unconscious, 
and  awoke  to  find  it  was  all  a  dream." 

"A  happy  ending,  was  it  not  ?"  said  the  doctor  to  Adrien. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  and  when  we  are  married  to-day,  and  embark 
at  noon  on  the  sea  of  matrimony,  we  will  never  be  separated 
till  death  shall  call  one  or  the  other," 

"Amen  to  that,  I  say ;  and  may  my  blessing  rest  upon  you 
both !  Hereafter  I  will,  as  a  medical  man,  strongly  advise 
people  on  the  eve  of  being  married  to  avoid  eating  lobster- 
salad,  and  then  they  will  not  have  the  blues." 

"  By  the  way,  doctor,"  said  Adrien,  "  did  you  ever  hear 
that  poem  by  Lieutenant  Holm,  United  States  navy,  written 
twenty- five  years  ago,  off  some  island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean? 
It  coincides  with  my  dream." 


PAYMENT  OF  THE  BOND.  209 

"  Look  here,  my  dear  fellow,  I  object  to  any  more  indul- 
gence in  indigo." 

"  But  I  assure  you,  doctor,  that  the  poem  is  a  beautiful 
one." 

"  Well,  we  have  just  time  to  hear  it  before  getting  ready 
for  our  visit  to  the  minister  s ;  but  I  warn  you,  if  it  is  a  dole- 
ful one,  I  will  put  an  end  to  the  recital,  or  I  shall  begin  to 
feel  that  I  am  going  to  a  funeral  instead  of  a  wedding.  When 
my  matrimonial  morn  comes  I  expect  to  be  as  jolly  as " 

"  An  undertaker,"  chimed  in  Adrien. 

"  Well,  hardly ;  but  go  ahead  with  your  sea-poem." 

"  I  dream  that  I  am  a  bright  seamew 

At  home  on  the  ocean  spray  ; 
I  dream,  I  dream  that  the  song  is  true 

"We  chanted  the  other  day. 
I  dream  that  the  earth  is  a  fairer  green, 

The  ocean  a  purer  blue', 
That  love  is  reality ;  woe  but  a  dream, — 

Would  that  my  dream  were  true  ! 

"I  dream,  I  dream  that  the  curse  will  pass 

Away  from  my  maddened  brain, 
As  the  shadows  that  flit  o'er  yon  wavy  grass, 

Or  as  the  mist  that  follows  the  rain. 
I  dream,  I  dream  that  a  golden  cloud. 

Like  a  rainbow  that  spans  the  sea. 
Comes  floating  along  on  its  misty  shroud, 

And  bears  thee  away  with  me. 

"To  the  siren  isles  in  the  placid  main 

That  rock  in  the  pearly  sea  ; 
Oh,  never  was  aught  so  fair,  I  ween, 

As  those  islets  seem  to  be  ! 
Embowered  in  a  fragrant  cocoa  grove, 

Infringing  the  purple  sky, 
Enjoying  a  transient  dream  of  love. 

We  lay  us  down  to  die. 

"  Again  I  dream  of  the  ocean-foam, 

And  again  I  dream  of  thee ; 
But  the  shadows  that  flitted  in  myriads  come, 

Shrouding  in  storm  the  sea. 
On  the  breakers  drifting  to  and  fro, 

As  dark  as  dark  may  be, 
Dismally,  wearily,  on  we  go 

On  separate  waves  of  the  sea." 

"  Splendid  poem,  I  admit,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  but  I  have 
no  idea  that  the  last  verse  of  it  will  be  your  experience." 
o  18* 


210  ILIAN. 

"  I  like  that  poem  very  much,  Adrien,"  said  Ilian.  "  Do 
you  not  remember  I  told  you  a  dream  which  I  had  in  1861, 
when  you  left  me  to  returu  to  your  ship  ?  I  thought  that  I 
was  in  a  boat  drifting  far  out  to  sea,  and  I  called  on  you 
to  help  me.  Now  I  propose  we  leave  dreams  and  turn  to 
something  practical.  We  must  prepare  for  the  ceremony. 
I  once  thought  that  I  never  could  be  married  except  in  church, 
and  with  white  wedding-raiment  and  veil  and  orauge-blossoms 
and  at  least  six  bridesmaids.  Now  I  am  content  to  be  married 
in  a  pearl-gray  travelling-suit,  with  my  faithful  maid,  who  has 
never  left  me  during  the  last  four  years,  as  witness.  I  was  in 
hopes  that  Sam  would  have  been  here  in  time.  Here  comes 
a  telegram.  It  is  for  you,  doctor,  and  I  hope  it  contains  no 
bad  news." 

The  doctor  laughed  when  he  read  the  slip  of  paper.  "  It  is 
from  Sam,"  he  said.  "  It  is  very  concise,  and  reads,  '  Sam  will 
be  on  hand  eleven  o'clock.'  (signed)  '  Sam.'  You  remember, 
Adrien,  I  sent  him  to  Washington  two  days  before  you  left 
Elmira,  as  they  did  not  consider  him  a  prisoner  of  war,  to 
hunt  up  Colonel  Hortense.  I  received  a  despatch  from  him 
the  morning  we  left  Buffalo.  It  said,  '  Colonel  am  gambling 
like  de  debil,  but  his  money  am  gone.'  This  I  fully  expected, 
and  it  accounts  for  the  large  losses  incurred  by  Miss  Mordine." 

"  Why  do  you  persist  in  calling  me  by  that  name?"  she 
demanded.     "  1  prefer  that  you  should  call  me  Ilian." 

"  I  will  do  so  after  you  are  married,  and  I  have  your  hus- 
band's permission." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Adrien,  "  we  are  both  so  much  indebted  to 
you  that  we  never  can  repay  your  kindness  and  devotion. 
I  shall  always  regard  you  as  a  brother,  and  Ilian  will  be  your 
sister.  In  reference  to  our  programme,  I  will  say  that  two 
carriages  will  be  at  the  door  at  half  past  eleven,  and  after  the 
ceremony  there  will  be  refreshments  at  the  minister's  house. 
I  ordered  them  to  be  sent  there.  Our  baggage  will  go  to  the 
station  and  wait  for  us.  I  am  sorry  that  you  must  tear 
yourself  away  so  soon;  but  you  have  promised  to  dine  with 
us  at  our  hotel  at  six  o'clock." 

"  I  will  do  so ;  but  at  seven  thirty  I  must  leave  for  the 
South,  as,  besides  my  own  affairs,  I  have  to  look  out  for  the 
property  of  your  bride,  as  Colonel  Hortense  has  been  discharged 
from  his  stewardship.     He  has  squandered  in  some  way  over 


PAYMENT  OF  THE  BOND.  211 

one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Au  revoir  until  half-past 
eleven." 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Bowman,  who  was  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished preachers  of  Cleveland,  had  festooned  his  large  draw- 
ing-room with  flowers  and  made  every  preparation  for  a  grand 
wedding.  The  table  in  his  dining-room  was  laden  with  a 
substantial  repast,  provided  by  the  best  caterer  in  the  city.  Iq 
the  centre  was  a  large  wedding-cake.  Mrs.  Bowman  and  her 
two  daughters  were  arrayed  in  their  best;  they  were  to  be 
the  only  witnesses,  besides  those  who  were  to  come  with  the 
bridal  party. 

At  noon  precisely  they  came.  One  carriage  containing 
Ilian  and  her  maid  and  Adrien  and  the  doctor;  the  other 
carriage  had  gone  to  the  station  with  Sam  in  charge  of  the 
baggage. 

The  ceremony  was  short ;  the  worthy  doctor  was  noted  for 
this,  and  consequently  had  many  such  interesting  duties. 

After  the  usual  preliminary  questions  came  the  final  part. 
"  Husband  and  wife  I  pronounce  you  in  the  name  of  Almighty 
God,  and  none  may  separate  you  till  death  shall  come,"  were 
his  closing  words,  followed  by  a  brief  prayer.  Congratulations 
were  offered  to  the  newly-married  pair.  It  was  the  happiest 
moment  of  their  lives.  They  walked  arm  in  arm  to  the  dining- 
room  ;  Dr.  Rechard  followed  with  Mrs.  Bowman,  although  he 
looked  as  though  he  would  have  preferred  to  have  escorted 
both  her  handsome  daughters  instead, — perhaps  because  he 
was  a  bachelor.  We  cannot  linger  over  the  wedding-break- 
fast. At  ten  minutes  after  one  the  party  left.  The  happy 
husband  slipped  a  five-hundred-dollar  note  into  the  minister's 
hand,  who,  when  his  eyes  caught  the  figure  on  the  bill,  called 
out, — 

"  Many  thanks  ;  come  again  ;  glad  to  see  you  at  any  time." 

Amidst  waving  of  handkerchiefs  they  drove  to  the  station. 
Sam  met  them,  his  face  radiant  and  full  of  smiles  as  he  said, 
"  I  congratulate  you  both.  I's  always  expected  to  see  dis  'ere 
day  ;  may  de  joy  nebber  end." 

A  few  minutes  later  and  they  were  on  their  way  to  Erie. 
The  bond  had  been  paid. 


212  ILIAN. 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

PREMONITIONS. 

The  journey  and  arrival  at  Erie  occurred  without  incident. 
Sam  and  the  maid  were  cautioned  not  to  mention  any  thing  at 
the  hotel  about  the  wedding,  as  the  married  couple  were  ad- 
verse to  be  subject  to  the  comment  usually  bestowed  upon 
bridal  parties.  Their  apartments,  having  been  written  for  in 
advance,  were  ready  for  them,  and  at  six  o'clock  they  sat  down 
to  a  luxurious  dinner.  Dr.  Rechard  laughingly  objected  to 
any  lobster-salad  being  brought  on  the  table. 

''  Ghosts,"  he  said,  "always  follow  weird  dreams,  and  lobster- 
salad  two  days  in  succession  would  surely  bring  them.  Besides," 
he  added,  "  I  have  to  travel  all  night,  and  might  see  some 
myself." 

"  You  surely,  doctor,  don't  dread  meeting  any  of  your  for- 
mer patients,"  remarked  Ilian. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  But,  jesting  aside,  one's  imagination  can 
easily  be  worked  up  to  a  high  pitch.  For  instance,  I  have 
heard  of  persons  who  went  into  a  bedroom  in  the  evening 
when  the  light  was  dim,  and  afterwards  asserted  that  they  saw 
the  face  of  some  dead  friend  in  the  looking-glass ;  of  course, 
there  is  nothing  in  it ;  merely  the  force  of  one's  imagination." 

"  Doctor,"  remarked  Adrien,  "  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  like 
many  medical  men,  rather  sceptical." 

"  Not  by  any  means,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  not  a  sceptic, 
although  I  want  proof  of  a  positive  kind  for  any  event  out  of 
the  ordinary  course  of  things.  There  are  many  strange  phe- 
nomena that  cannot  be  explained,  and  I  am  not  one  of  those 
people  who  must  have  ocular  and  palpable  proof  for  everything 
presented  to  my  notice.  If  certain  statements  are  well  cor- 
roborated by  persons  competent  to  judge  of  the  facts  at  issue, 
I  accept  their  testimony.  1  do  not  believe  in  spiritualism 
with  the  preposterous  claims  they  put  forth.  They  may  do 
some  wonderful  things  that  I  cannot  lathom.  So  do  the  wiz- 
ards, such  men  as  Hermann  and  others  of  his  class,  who  claim 
sleight-of-hand  and  optical  illusion  and  nothing  more." 

"  Doctor,"  asked  Ilian,  "  do  you  believe  that  our  departed 
relatives,  who  during  life  had  our  interests  at  heart,  would  be 


PREMONITIONS,  213 

willing  to  let  us  walk  into  danger  without  some  warning,  even 
were  it  only  given  in  dreams?" 

"  I  will  reply  to  your  question  by  asking  another.  Where 
do  you  get  the  authority  for  supposing  that  in  their  disembodied 
state  they  linger  on  this  planet?  There  is  nothing  in  the 
Bible  upon  which  to  found  such  a  belief." 

"  I  concede  that  point ;  but  is  there  any  thing  in  the  Scrip- 
tures which  positively  asserts  that  they  do  not  sometimes  come 
back  to  warn  of  approaching  danger?  There  are  cases  recorded 
in  that  book  which  prove  my  point." 

"  That  is  a  problem  of  theology  or  psychology  to  which  it 
is  difficult  to  give  a  satisfactory  solution  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  am  not  anxious  for  any  experiments  of  that  nature.  I  am 
satisfied  with  the  humdrum  routine  of  my  daily  Ufe." 

"  The  last  four  years  of  the  war,  just  past,  was  hardly  a 
humdrum  affair  in  your  experience,"  remarked  Adrien. 

"  Well,  no ;  but  I  don't  expect  another  such  period  while  I 
remain  on  this  sphere.  But  now  we  have  on  hand  the  sun- 
dering of  our  pleasant  association.  For  the  past  two  years 
Adrien  and  myself  have  not  been  separated,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  I  must  leave  you  both  and  turn  my  face  to  the  South. 
I  expect  to  feel  the  separation  keenly.  Adrien,  my  dear  boy, 
our  four  years  of  college-life  wove  the  bonds  of  friendship 
that  only  death  can  break.  Now  that  you  and  Ilian  are  at 
last  united,  I  will  depart  with  the  assurance  that  many  years 
of  happiness  are  in  store  for  you.  I  shall  expect  to  see  you 
often  in  New  Orleans ;  and  whenever  I  visit  the  North,  or 
wherever  you  decide  to  make  your  home,  I  know  I  shall  be  a 
welcome  visitor." 

"  Indeed  you  will,"  said  Ilian,  as  she  rose  from  the  table 
and  took  the  doctor's  hand.  She  added,  "  I  feel  the  poverty 
of  the  English  language,  because  I  cannot  find  words 
adequate  to  express  my  feelings  at  the  moment  of  separation 
from  one  whom  I  hold  in  the  sacred  light  of  a  brother.  May 
your  every  step  be  blessed;  and  Adrien,  I  know,  will  let  me 
give  you  a  sister's  parting  kiss." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he.  "  I  will  now  go  to  the  station  and 
see  the  doctor  off,  post  my  letter  to  my  father,  and  call  upon 
some  tailor  and  order  several  suits,  and  will  leave  you  to  talk 
over  the  new  dresses  with  your  dress-maker,  whom  you  instructed 
to  be  here  at  seven  thirty.     It  will  probafbly  be  half-past  nine 


214  ILIAN, 

"when  I  return,  as  I  have  to  make  some  purchases  ;  then  we 
can  take  a  walk  on  the  lake-shure.  How  happy  my  father 
and  mother  will  be  to  get  this  letter  from  Dr.  Rechard  !  I 
hope  to  see  both  of  their  dear  faces  b}^  this  day  week,  and  we 
will  have  a  grand  welcome  home.  It  seems  like  ten  years 
since  I  left  the  mansion  of  my  parents.  They  will  have  two 
children  to  gladden  their  hearts  instead  of  the  one  they 
thought  was  dead  and  gone." 

A  moment  after  Ilian  was  left  alone. 

The  parting  at  the  station  between  the  two  college-chums  and 
companions  of  the  last  two  years  was  of  such  a  touching 
nature  as  it  is  almost  impossible  to  describe.  Their  hearts 
were  too  full  for  utterance ;  tears  were  in  their  eyes. 

"Doctor,"  said  Adrien,  "you  seem  to  have  something  on 
your  mind." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  it  must  be  owing  to  the 
excitement  of  the  last  week.    The  feeling  is  a  new  one  to  me." 

"  Can  you  describe  it  ?     Your  face  has  a  troubled  look." 

"  I  have  a  presentiment,  that  I  cannot  shake  off,  that  there 
is  trouble  coming  between  you  and  Ilian.  I  never  believed  in 
such  things  before ;  now  it  has  taken  full  possession  of  me. 
Ever  since  the  narration  of  our  dreams  this  morning,  and 
especially  that  poem  you  quoted,  which  seemed  almost  pro- 
phetic, I  have  been  under  a  strange  influence.  Telegraph  to 
me  at  once  if  you  need  me,  and  I  will  come  even  were  you  at 
the  extreme  limits  of  the  globe." 

"  All  aboard  !"  shouted  the  conductor.  The  locomotive 
gave  the  warning  whistle,  and,  standing  on  the  rear  platform 
of  the  railway-carriage,  the  doctor  waved  his  hand  until  out 
of  sight.  It  was  some  minutes  before  Adrien  could  tear  him- 
self away  from  the  spot  where  his  true  and  noble  friend  had 
stood  but  a  moment  before  ;  the  pressure  of  his  hand  was  still 
felt.  Could  he  only  have  known  that  never  more  in  this  life 
would  he  see  the  face  of  the  genial  Dr.  Rechard,  the  agony 
of  parting  would  have  been  greater.  Happy  for  mortals  that 
the  future  is  hidden  from  their  eyes,  and  that  hope  never 
ceases  as  a  factor  of  human  happiness  while  life  or  reason  are 
with  us.  Adrien  walked  slowly  away  from  the  station  and 
went  to  the  tailor  recommended  by  the  proprietor  of  his  hotel, 
where  he  ordered  two  suits  of  clothes.  Thence  he  went  to 
several  shops  and  mJide  a  few  purchases. 


PREMONITIONS.  215 

"We  leave  him  thus  engaged,  and  go  back  to  IHan  and  see 
how  she   employed  her  time  while  waiting  for  her  husband. 
The  dress-maker  called  and  made  an  appointment  for  the  next 
morning,  so  she  had  plenty  of  time  for  a  review  of  the  past 
four  years.      She  sat  by  the  window  of  lier  bedroom  enjoy- 
ing the  cool  evening  breeze.     Her  thoughts  went  back  to  the 
month   of  May,   1861,   when   she  was    in  Boston  with  her 
aunt,— the  day  that  she  took  the  fatal  oath  of  hatred  to  all 
the  Homerand  family ;  and  then  again  she  thought  of  that 
hour,  a  month  later,  when  her  aunt  on  her  dying  bed  recalled 
that  oath  and   declared  it  null  and  void.     Often  since  that 
time  had  she  weighed  the  momentous  question,  whether,  after 
having  taken   such   an   oath,  any  human  power  could  release 
her  from   it.     There  was  no  definite  limit  to  it ;  the  words 
used  were,  "  perpetual  hatred,"  and  it  was  the  exact  meaning 
of  the  term  "  perpetual"  that  had  caused  her  much  anxiety^ 
providing  her  aunt  had  no  power  to  annul  the  obligation.  At 
times   this  subject  came  up  for  her  consideration,  and  it  had 
generally  resulted  in  the  decision,  after  a  weary  struggle,  that 
she   was   released    from    the    vow.       Her   love    for  Adrien 
had  much  to  do  with  the  matter.      But  the  problem  would 
not   rest.       It   was  like  some  evil  spirit  that  could  not  be 
exorcised  by  any  art  she  possessed.     Once  more  this  trouble- 
some question  was  taking  full  possession  of  all  of  her  mental 
faculties.     "  Admitting  that   the  oath  was  binding,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "  what  was  then  really  implied  in  the  term  '  per- 
petual hatred  ?'  "     Surely  it  was  not  in   marrying  one  of  the 
persons  involved  in  the  execration.     This  she  had  done  that 
very  day,  yet  it  was  in  conformity  with  a  solemn  promise  to 
do  so  when  the  war  was  ended.     If  her  aunt  could  come  back 
from  the  dead,  what  would  she  say  ?     Surely  if  she  had  been 
wronged,  there  had   been   ample  revenge.     Could  the  most 
vindictive  person  wish  for  more  than  had  been  accomplished  ? 
The  only  son  of  the  man  who  had  wronged  her  mother,  in  what 
way  she  knew  not,  had  been  torn  away  from  his  allegiance  to 
the  flag  that  he  had  sworn  to  defend,  and  for  two  years  had 
been   placed  in   a  position  which,  if  found   out,  would  have 
procured  for  him  an  ignominious  death.     Even  now  he  was 
making  arrangements  to  leave  his  country  for  fear  of  discovery. 
The  father,  who  was   the  prime   cause  of  the  death  of  her 
mother,  was  he  not  punished  by  the  two  years  of  mourning 


216  ILIAN. 

for  his  son  ?  Yes,  the  oath  had  been  fulfilled,  and  there  must 
be  a  truce  to  all  this  hatred.  It  must  end  forever.  From 
this  time  on  she  would  accept  the  fact  that  she  was  released 
from  the  fatal  obligation,  and  would  devote  her  whole  life  to 
the  happiness  of  the  man  whom  she  loved  and  who  had  suf- 
fered so  much  to  prove  his  devotion.  She  would  also  love 
the  father,  and  be  to  him  and  to  his  wife  a  loving,  devoted 
daughter.  Certainly  her  aunt  must  approve  of  all  this,  and 
from  that  other  sphere  would  bless  her.  Ah  1  if  she  could 
only  have  a  test  of  this,  it  would  set  the  seal  of  her  happiness. 
Could  she  get  one?  A  moment  she  pondered,  and  then  a 
bright  idea  came  into  her  head. 
She  at  once  set  about  to  try  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    SHADOW   IN   THE   GLASS. 

I  AM  very  confident  that  the  method  employed  by  Iliaa 
which  I  am  about  to  describe  and  the  result  which  she 
attained  can  be  explained  by  purely  natural  causes.  I  might 
declare  it  a  psychological  problem  easy  of  solution  by  well- 
known  laws.  Ilian  seemed  to  think  difi'erently,  and  acted 
upon  her  own  motion.  That  in  this  case  she  was  right  in 
the  course  pursued  will  be  made  apparent  before  the  story  is 
finished,  but  I  certainly  would  not  advise  any  one  else  to  make 
deductions  of  a  supernatural  agency  from  any  experiments  or 
experiences  of  their  own  of  a  similar  kind. 

For  several  months  Ilian  had  not  looked  upon  the  portrait 
of  her  dead  aunt.  It  was  beautifully  painted  in  a  locket 
which  was  in  her  trunk.  She  now  went  and  took  it  out,  and 
returned  to  the  window  and  fixed  her  gaze  upon  it.  The 
starlight  gave  the  face  a  strange  look ;  in  fact,  it  seemed  to 
frown  upon  her,  and  for  several  minutes  as  she  looked  upon 
it  the  frown  grew  deeper.  This  troubled  her,  so  she  con- 
cluded to  call  her  maid  and  ask  her  opinion  of  the  portrait. 
A  wardrobe  stood  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  with  a  large 


THE  SHADOW  IN  THE   GLASS.  217 

mirror  in  the  door  of  it.  She  left  the  window  and  walked 
towards  the  door  to  ring  the  bell.  Her  eye  still  rested  upon 
the  locket.  Passing  the  wardrobe  she  looked  at  it,  and  there 
in  the  glass  she  saw  the  full  outline  of  her  dead  aunt's  face. 
The  expression  upon  it  was  terrible  to  behold.  She  was 
naturally  brave  and  fearless,  but  this  unexpected  event  was 
more  than  her  nerves  could  stand.  For  a  moment  she  stood 
p:azing  at  the  face,  then  sank  to  the  floor  trembling  in  every 
limb.  She  did  not  faint,  but  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
thought  of  what  Dr.  Rechard  had  said  that  very  day  upon 
the  force  of  imagination,  and  of  persons  in  fancy  seeing  the 
face  of  some  dead  person  in  a  looking-glass.  She  looked 
again,  hoping  to  find  that  frowning  face  gone,  but  it  was  still 
there,  and  the  countenance  had  an  expression  that  filled  her 
with  awe  and  terror.  She  felt  there  could  be  but  one  mean- 
ing, and  that  was  that  her  oath  was  still  binding,  and  hence, 
although  she  had  promised  to  wed  Adrien,  yet  she  had  not 
bound  herself  to  live  with  him.  Death  was  preferable  than 
to  come  in  contact  any  more  with  that  angry  face  before  her. 
Her  resolution  was  formed.  Yes,  she  would  leave  the  hotel 
at  once.  For  fully  five  minutes  she  sat  on  the  floor  with  her 
head  between  her  hands  reflecting  on  what  was  best  to  do 
under  the  circumstances.  Finally  she  determined  to  go  to 
New  York  by  the  express  train  leaving  at  half-past  nine  and 
give  the  matter  a  full  trial  of  three  days.  She  could  then 
examine  the  papers  left  by  her  aunt,  which  were  in  a  tin  box 
at  her  bankers,  and  also  some  papers  of  her  late  mother. 
Perhaps  these  would  throw  some  light  on  the  subject.  This 
investigation  she  had  long  purposed  to  undertake,  but  her 
heart  was  too  full  of  her  loss  after  her  aunt  died  ;  and  then 
the  four  years  of  the  war  had  left  her  no  time  to  do  so.  After 
this  decision  she  looked  once  more  upon  the  fiice  in  the  mir- 
ror and  the  frown  was  gone ;  there  was  the  sweet  smile 
instead  represented  in  the  portrait ;  gradually  it  faded  away, 
leaving  only  the  polished  surface  of  the  glass. 

Ilian  was  a  girl  of  rapid  decision,  and  hastened  at  once  to 
carry  out  her  resolve.  Calling  for  her  maid,  she  told  her  to 
pack  her  trunk  and  prepare  to  leave  the  hotel  in  half  an 
hour,  as  an  urgent  message  just  received  required  her  to  take 
the  nine-thirty  train  for"  Now  York.  Sam  was  also  sent  for, 
and  told  to  assist  her,  and  he  was  likewise  directed  to  remain 
K  19 


218  ILIAN. 

with  his  master,  who  would  follow  in  three  dajs.  Both 
servants  were  too  well  trained  to  ask  any  questions,  and  as 
they  were  used  to  her  sudden  movements,  they  conjectured  it 
had  some  reference  to  the  secret  service.  At  nine  o'clock  the 
carriage  was  at  the  door.  Slie  sent  for  the  landlord,  and  told 
him  that  a  case  of  life  and  death  called  for  her  immediate  depart- 
ure for  New  York,  and  handed  him  a  roll  of  bills,  telling  him 
to  take  his  charges  out  of  it  and  hand  the  balance  to  her 
husband,  who  would  follow  in  a  few  days  after  he  finished 
some  pressing  business.  The  carriage  left  the  hotel,  and  Sam 
was  seated  beside  the  driver.  At  twenty  minutes  past  nine  he 
saw  his  mistress  and  her  maid  comfortably  seated  in  a  coach 
of  the  New  York  express.  She  then  told  him  not  to  wait, 
but  to  hunt  up  his  master  and  give  him  the  letter  which  she 
put  in  his  hand  ;  she  directed  him  where  Adrien  was  likely  to 
be  found.  Sam  promptly  left  the  station  and  went  to  the 
promenade  on  the  lake,  where  he  found  his  master  smoking  a 
cigar. 

Adrien,  seeing  his  servant  coming,  said,  with  a  smile, — 

"  Sam,  I  suppose  your  mistress  sent  you  to  hunt  for  me, 
thinking  I  was  lost,  but  it  is  just  half-past  nine,  and  I  was 
not  due  at  the  hotel  before." 

"To  tell  de  truth,  Massa  Homerand,"  said  Sam,  "  dis  nig- 
ger am  mystified.  I  don't  gone  and  quite  understand  de 
situation  ob  affairs.  I  guess  der  am  some  trouble  in  New 
York,  for  missis  just  left  for  dat  place,  and  tole  me  to  gib  you 
dis  ere  letter." 

As  the  letter  was  placed  in  his  hand  a  chill  came  over  liim, 
and  a  terrible  foreboding  of  ill  took  possession  of  him.  The 
letter  he  opened  and  read  by  the  aid  of  a  gas-lamp. 

Erie,  June  21,  1865,  8.30  p.m. 

My  darling  Adrien, — Never  in  my  life  before  were  you 
so  dear  to  me  as  at  this  moment,  and  yet  never  was  I  so 
wretched  and  unhappy.  What  I  have  to  tell  you  will  seem 
like  the  force  of  a  morbid  imagination,  yet  to  me  it  is  an 
appalling  reality.  While  waiting  for  your  return  this  evening, 
I  saw  my  aunt's  face  in  the  mirror  of  the  wardrobe  in  our 
room.  The  frown  on  it  was  terrible  to  behold.  This  in 
itself  would  not  have  induced  me  to  take  the  step  I  am  about 
to  do  ;  it  is  something  of  a  deeper  import,  and  I  am  in  the  dark 


THE  SHADOW  IX   THE   GLASS.  219 

respecting  the  foundation  of  it.  I  am  leaving  here  for  New- 
York  by  the  nine-thirty  train  to  examine  some  papers  left  by 
my  late  aunt.  Follow  me  in  three  days,  and  then  this 
mystery  will  be  cleared  up. 

I  will  tell  you  now  what  I  purposed  telling  you  to-morrow. 
In  the  month  of  May,  1861,  my  aunt  required  me  to  take  an 
oath  of  perpetual  hatred  to  all  the  members  of  your  family. 
A  month  later,  on  her  death-bed,  she  recalled  this  oath  and 
declared  it  null  and  void.  She  told  me  that  your  father  had 
been  the  cause  of  my  mother's  death,  but  gave  me  no  partic- 
ulars. I  now  hope  to  solve  the  mystery  when  I  reach  New 
York.  I  will  tell  the  landlord  of  this  hotel  that  a  case  of 
life  and  death  calls  me  unexpectedly  away,  and  will  leave  a 
large  amount  in  bills  for  your  credit.  I  will  go  directly  to 
my  cousin's,  Mrs.  Rendeem.  It  will  be  best  to  say  nothing 
of  our  marriage  to  any  one  at  present,  till  we  know  our  con- 
ditions. As  I  have  only  a  few  minutes  left  to  prepare  for  my 
journey  before  the  time  of  departure,  I  will  not  give  you  full 
particulars  till  we  meet  again.  Take  good  care  of  yourself, 
and  believe  me  now,  as  I  will  be  till  the  hour  of  my  death. 
Your  devoted  and  loving  wife, 

Ilian. 

When  Adrian  finished  reading  this  letter  he  folded  it  up 
and  placed  it  in  his  pocket;  then,  taking  Sam's  arm,  he  went 
back  to  his  hotel,  perplexed  and  sick  at  heart.  He  was 
crushed,  but  endeavored  to  find  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  it  was  but  a  dream,  and  the  waking  hour  would  bring  the 
glorious  sunshine  into  his  life  again.  With  his  deep  sorrow, 
alone,  we  must  now  leave  him. 


BOOK    IV.— 1865. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  RENDEEM    MANSION. 

It  is  four  years  since  we  last  met  the  members  of  the  Ren- 
deem  family.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rendeem  were  about  the  same. 
Such  a  short  period  makes  very  little  diflference  to  individuals 
who  have  passed  the  half-century  mark.  John,  their  son,  who 
had  gone  to  the  war  a  second  lieutenant,  had  returned  the 
major  of  his  regiment,  with  a  brilliant  war-record.  Alice 
Rendeem,  who  was  just  twenty  when  we  first  met  her,  was 
more  beautiful  than  ever.  Her  sister  Edith  was  three  years 
younger,  and  was  a  girl  of  rare  talent  and  brimful  nf  patriot- 
ism, as  illustrated  by  her  defence  of  Northern  principles  on 
that  eventful  evening  at  the  period  recorded  in  a  former  chap- 
ter, when  Adrien's  ship  sailed  from  New  York.  During  the 
war  she  had  been  an  active  member  of  several  aid  societies, 
whose  object  was  to  nurse  and  assist  the  sick  and  wounded 
Federal  soldiers.  She  became  so  interested  in  the  work  that 
she  was  anxious  to  study  medicine.  It  was  some  time  before 
her  father  would  consent  to  this.  Her  great  beauty  brought 
many  admirers  to  her  feet,  but  she  would  not  listen  to  an  offer 
of  marriage.  Her  sister  Alice  was  engaged  to  a  rich  young 
man,  who  had  been  captain  of  one  of  the  companies  of  her 
brother's  regiment,  which  had  just  been  disbanded.  With 
this  preliminary  statement  we  once  more  introduce  the  Ren- 
deem family,  who  will  from  this  time  become  active  personages 
in  this  narrative. 

On  the  22d  of  June,  as  the  ladies  of  the  house  were  about 

sitting  down  to  their  one-o'clock  lunch,  a  carriage  drove  up  to 

the  door,  and  a  lady  thickly  veiled  ascended  the  steps,  and  a 

moment  after  was  ushered  into  the  drawing-room.     The  ser- 

220 


THE  RENDEEM  MANSION.  221 

vant  who  received  her  came  to  tbe  dining-room  and  announced 
that  the  visitor  had  declined  to  give  her  name,  but  wished  to 
see  Mrs.  Rendeem  at  once.  The  kind-hearted  lady  had  many 
such  callers,  as  her  charity  was  well  known.  It  was  half  an 
hour  before  she  returned  with  a  smiling  face  and  said  to  her 
daughters, — 

"  Who  do  you  think  our  visitor  is  ?  I  have  persuaded  her 
to  stay  for  dinner." 

"  Some  worthy  head  of  a  Union  aid    society,"  answered 

Alice,  gayly,   "  who  wants "      Here  she   stopped,  as  a 

warning  look  from  Edith  told  her  she  was  treading  on  danger- 
ous ground." 

"  No,  it  is  not,"  replied  her  mother ;  "  and  our  visitor  wants 
nothing  more  than  two  hours  of  strict  seclusion  in  order  to 
look  over  some  papers.  But  knowing  the  impatience  of  young 
ladies,  she  will  first  devote  half  an  hour  to  your  company." 

''  How  condescending,"  replied  Alice;  "perhaps " 

Again  she  was  cut  short  by  her  sister  saying,  "  It  must  be 
Ilian."  And  she  was  out  of  the  room  and  up  into  the  draw- 
ing-room before  Alice  could  realize  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  mother,  "  it  is  indeed  Ilian.  She  appears 
worried  half  to  death  over  some  matter.  I  never  saw  her 
looking  so  ill  before.     I  wonder " 

At  this  point  the  good  lady  found  herself  alone,  for  Alice 
had  vanished  to  join  in  giving  a  cordial  reception  to  Ilian  ;  for 
no  one  was  more  welcome  to  their  home  than  "  the  charming 
little  rebel,"  as  they  often  playfully  called  her. 

She  told  them  that  she  had  just  arrived  from  Buffalo.  She 
had  left  her  baggage  with  her  maid  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel, 
and  had  gone  to  her  banker  for  a  package  of  papers  belonging 
to  her  late  aunt.  She  desired  to  look  over  them,  and  then  she 
would  be  at  their  service.  "  I  suppose,"  she  continued,  "  you 
have  heard  all  about  Adrien  Homerand  ?" 

"  Yes,  poor  fellow,"  they  answered ;  "  he  died  two  years  ago, 
and  his  father  and  mother  are  nearly  heart-broken  over  it. 
^^hy,  you  told  us  all  about  it  at  your  last  visit." 

"  That  was  a  false  rumor,"  Ilian  replied.  "  It  now  transpires 
that  he  was  sent  on  a  secret  expedition,  and  obtained  valuable 
information  on  some  important  point  in  reference  to  blockade- 
running.  He  was  taken  prisoner  and  kept  in  close  confine- 
ment.    He  had  an  attack  of  yellow-fever,  which  gave  the  op- 

19* 


222  ILIAN. 

portunity  to  spread  the  report  of  his  death.  The  war  being 
over,  be  has  been  released,  and  is  on  his  way  North." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this,  Cousin  Ilian  ?''  said  Alice,  as  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.     "  I  wish  I  had  known  of  it  sooner." 

"  Why  sooner?"  was  the  rather  cool  answer,  and  the  eyes 
of  the  two  women  met  in  searching  inquiry.  They  were  rivals 
for  the  love  of  the  same  man.  One  had  won  it  and  then 
left  him;  the  other,  thinking  he  was  dead,  had  pledged  her- 
self to  another  man,  while  her  heart  was  buried,  as  she  sup- 
posed, in  the  far-off  grave  of  her  first  love. 

Ilian  had  long  ago  read  this  love  in  her  cousin's  eyes ;  and 
although  she  now  felt  that  her  oath  forbade  her  from  living 
with  him  as  his  wife,  yet  no  one  else  must  have  him  ;  besides, 
he  was  her  lawful  husband.  The  secret,  however,  would  be 
well  guarded. 

"  If  I  had  only  known  this  a  month  ago,"  continued  Alice, 
"it  might,  perhaps, — but  no  matter,  it  is  now  too  late."  And 
she  went  to  the  window  that  her  tears  might  flow  unrestrained. 

"  Ilian,"  said  Edith,  who  had  been  endeavoring,  if  possible, 
to  read  the  inmost  soul  of  her  cousin,  "  I  have  always 
thought  that  very  little  went  on  in  the  secret  service  of  the 
Confederate  government  that  you  did  not  know." 

"  Oh,  Edith,  how  can  you  talk  this  way  ?  It  was  just  such 
rumors  that  caused  my  arrest,  and  Ijnay  yet  be  compelled  to 
leave  the  country,  for  Secretary  Stanton  is  very  bitter  against 
me." 

"  Not  without  reason,  fair  cousin  ;  but  come,  now  that  the 
war  is  ended,  we  will  forget  the  past.  I  am  sorry  if  I  have 
hurt  your  feelings."  And  she  laid  Ilian's  head  on  her  own 
breast,  for  she  was  weeping,  but  faster  and  faster  flowed  the 
tears. 

Mrs.  Rendeem  came  into  the  drawing-room,  and  with  both 
her  daughters  endeavored  to  soothe  their  guest.  It  was  well 
for  her  she  was  able  to  shed  tears,  for  it  was  a  great  relief  to 
her  overstrained  feelings.  She  was  urged  to  lie  down  and 
postpone  the  examination  of  the  papers  to  some  other  time. 

"  Do  let  us  send  for  your  trunks,"  said  Mrs.  Rendeem. 
"  Why  did  you  go  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  ?  You  have 
always  been  a  welcome  visitor  here." 

"  Do  not  ask  me  why.  I  cannot  leave  the  hotel  for  impor- 
tant reasons,  and  must  return  this  evening.     I  have  much  to 


THE  RENDEEM  MANSION.  223 

attend  to  which  can  only  be  done  there.  I  will,  however, 
remain  with  you  for  dinner;  it  is  possible  that  I  may  sail  the 
day  after  to-morrow  by  the  Cunard  steamer  for  Liverpool." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,"  urged  Mrs.  Rendeem,  "  wherefore 
this  haste  to  leave  your  country?  The  strife  between  the 
North  and  South  is  ended,  and  no  one  will  molest  you  now." 

"  There  you  are  mistaken.  Secretary  Stanton  is  under 
the  impression  that  I  possess  valuable  information  about  the 
late  Confederate  government ;  and  if  he  could  by  any  means 
force  it  from  me,  he  would  do  so.  I  am  liable  to  be  arrested 
at  any  moment." 

"  Papa  has  considerable  influence  with  Secretary  Seward, 
of  the  State  Department,"  said  Edith  ;  "  and  I  know  that  he 
will  gladly  use  it  to  prevent  any  annoyance  to  you,  now  that 
the  war  is  over." 

"  The  fighting  may  be  ended,"  said  Ilian,  sorrowfully,  "  but 
the  bitterness  engendered  on  both  sides  will  take  many  years 
to  eSace.  No  ;  I  would  prefer  to  go  abroad.  I  would  like  to 
stay  and  meet  Adrien  Homerand,  but  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  do 
it.  I  will,  however,  accept  your  kind  offer  and  lie  down,  for 
my  head  aches." 

Tenderly  soothed  by  loving  hands,  Ilian  was  soon  asleep. 
But  the  respite  from  sorrow  and  trouble  was  only  brief.  It 
seems  strange  that  a  girl  who  had  what  all  women  crave, 
was  nevertheless,  by  some  unknown  combination  of  circum- 
stances, unhappy,  and  looking  for  death  as  the  only  balm  for 
her  sorrow-laden  heart.  In  her  gift  of  life  were  united  great 
wealth,  peerless  beauty,  a  sound  organic  system,  a  very  high 
grade  of  talents,  and  the  matchless  charm  of  youth.  Over  all 
these  was  thrown  the  mantle  of  purity  and  virtue.  She  did 
not  fail  to  recognize  the  fact  that  she  was  highly  favored  by 
a  kind  Providence,  and  was  eager  to  be  happy  and  enjoy  these 
choice  boons  of  her  Creator.  Was  the  failure  to  do  this  the 
result  of  error  on  her  part,  or  had  she  no  voice  in  the  decrees 
of  her  fate?     Who  can  answer? 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  she  awoke.  She  was  soon  joined 
by  her  cousins,  and  preparations  were  made  for  dinner.  Edith 
threw  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  kissed  her,  saying,  "  Now, 
sweet  cousin,  war  topics  are  forbidden,  so  we  will  not  talk 
about  them.  Papa  and  John  have  returned  and  are  anxious 
to  see  you." 


224  ILIAN. 

As  they  descended  to  tlic  drawing-room,  Mr.  Rendeem  came 
forward  to  greet  her. 

"  Thrice  welcome,  my  dear  Ilian,"  said  he,  and  he  tenderly 
embraced  her. 

"  Uncle  Joseph,"  said  she,  gratefully,  "  one  of  your  genial 
smiles  is  more  potent  to  heal  than  a  chemist's  shop  full  of 
drugs." 

Another  kiss  rewarded  this  compliment.  John  Rendeem 
also  extended  a  welcome,  and  looked  very  much  as  though  he 
would  have  liked  to  have  followed  his  father's  example.  The 
dinner  that  ensued  was  one  long  remembered  in  the  Rendeem 
family.  Ilian  for  the  time  forgot  her  curse,  that  terrible  oath 
that  was  sapping  the  foundations  of  her  life,  and  enjoyed  a 
brief  season  of  reunion  with  her  kindred.  It  was  nine 
o'clock  when  she  arose  to  depart.  Again  and  again  was  she 
pressed  to  stay,  but  with  tears  in  her  eyes  she  pleaded  not  to  be 
urged,  as  it  was  essentially  necessary  for  her  to  return  to  her 
hotel.  John  told  her  that  he  would  escort  her.  It  was  only 
three  blocks  away,  and  he  insisted  upon  carrying  the  tin  box 
containing  the  valuable  records.  After  leaving  the  house  he 
said  he  must  walk  a  little  slow,  as  he  had  touches  of  rheuma- 
tism from  sleeping  so  much  on  damp  ground  during  the  war. 
Nevertheless,  he  took  her  three  blocks  out  of  her  way,  on  the 
plea  that  the  walking  was  bad  in  the  other  streets.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  John  Rendeem  was  desperately  in  love 
with  his  fair  cousin,  and  no  doubt  under  other  circumstances 
this  love  would  have  been  returned,  for  John  was  a  peer 
among  his  fellows.  Unlike  many  of  the  gilded  youths  of  New 
York,  he  felt  that  there  was  a  higher  purpose  in  life  than  to 
spend  his  father's  money  foolishly.  The  very  day  after  his 
return  from  the  war  he  went  to  the  counting-house  and  took 
his  old  place,  resolved  to  relieve  his  father  as  much  as  possi- 
ble from  the  details  of  his  pressing  business.  He  was  correct 
in  his  deportment,  and  loved  his  home  and  the  society  of  his 
mother  and  sisters  better  than  that  which  was  to  be  found  in 
the  fashionable  clubs  of  the  city.  His  father  idolized  him, 
and  leaned  upon  him  as  the  prop  of  his  declining  years. 
Daily,  morning  and  evening,  they  were  to  be  seen  going  and 
coming  from  their  business ;  and  many  a  mother  with  mar- 
riageable daughters  looked  with  great  favor  upon  the  manly 
form  of  the  stalwart  John  Rendeem.     But  his  heart  was  not 


THE   REN  DEEM  MANSION.  225 

his  own.  Four  years  ago  it  had  gone  out  to  his  charming 
cousin,  and  now  that  she  was  by  his  side  he  improved  his 
time,  and  made  propositions  to  visit  sundry  ice-cream  saloons, 
and  urged  the  healthful  exercise  of  walking  in  the  moonlight  ; 
it  was,  in  fact,  a  sure  cure  for  rheumatism.  When  they, 
finally,  reached  the  hotel  he  told  her  that  he  had  not  felt  so 
well  for  a  long  time,  and  expatiated  upon  the  delicious  cream 
and  water-ices  in  a  French  restaurant  three  blocks  away, — ^just 
a  minute's  walk. 

"  Only  a  minute  ?"  said  Ilian  ;  "  while  we  have  taken  over 
half  an  hour  to  walk  six  blocks  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,"  he  answered ;  "  but  I  was  stiff  in  my 
limbs.  Now  I  am  limbered  up,  and  the  moonlight  is  perfect; 
just  the  ideal  night  for  rambles  with  ice-cream  thrown  in." 

Ilian  told  him  that  if  it  were  not  for  her  headache — she 
could  have  said  heartache  also — she  would  cheerfully  extend 
their  pleasant  promenade,  but  that  to  eat  ice-cream  with  her 
head  ready  to  split  would  keep  her  awake  all  night.  To- 
morrow, perhaps,  she  would  take  a  walk.  She  bade  him  a 
kind  good-night,  and  he  was  compelled  to  be  discreet,  for  they 
were  in  the  vestibule  of  the  hotel.  He  would  have  liked 
then  and  there  to  utter  the  words  that  have  made  so  many 
happy  or  miserable, — "  I  love  you  ;  will  you  be  mine?"  He 
fully  resolved,  however,  to  make  this  declaration  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening,  and  he  w^nt  his  way  with  his  heart  full  of 
delightful  expectations.  The  pressure  of  a  small  gloved  hand 
was  still  felt ;  but,  alas  for  human  hopes  !  it  was  many  years 
before  he  again  held  that  hand  in  his  own.  The  evening 
which  he  fondly  hoped  would  come,  with  its  ice-cream  and 
moonlight  walking,  was  a  long  time  off,  Ilian  returned  to  her 
room  and  dismissed  her  maid.  After  putting  on  a  loose- 
flowing  robe,  she  prepared  herself  for  the  examination  of  the 
papers  in  the  tin  box. 

With  what  result  the  next  chapter  will  show. 


226  ILIAN. 

CHAPTER  11. 

HOME   AGAIN. 

We  left  Adiien  at  his  hotel  in  Erie.  The  brain- trouble 
that  had  attacked  him  two  years  before,  when  Ilian  forced 
him  to  take  the  oath  in  New  Orleans,  had  again  returned. 
He  was  not  yet  fully  recovered  from  his  wounds,  and  this, 
with  the  sudden  unlooked-for  departure  of  his  wife,  left  him 
crushed  and  in  despair.  He  remained  in  his  room,  where  his 
meals  were  served,  and  Sam  was  devoted  in  his  attentions. 
The  morning  of  the  third  day  after  Ilian's  departure  he  re- 
ceived the  expected  letter,  but  it  gave  him  no  hope.  A  pre- 
sentiment had  taken  full  possession  of  him  that  he  had  parted 
from  her  forever.  For  fully  an  hour  the  letter  lay  untouched. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  knew  its  contents ;  why,  therefore, 
read  what  was  known  ?  At  last  he  opened  it,  with  the  same 
fortitude  that  a  man  summons  up  when  about  to  undergo  a 
surgical  operation.  He  spread  the  letter  before  him  and  read 
as  follows : 

New  York  City,  June  23,  1865. 

Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  2  a.m. 

Adrien,  my  best  Beloved, — My  heart  is  breaking  under 
its  heavy  load,  and  I  see  no  relief  except  in  the  grave.  The 
gulf  which  opened  up  between  us  two  nights  ago  has  widened 
to  a  mighty  chasm,  over  which  I  cannot  cross  under  penalty 
of  a  curse  that  I  dare  not  incur.  For  the  last  four  hours  I 
have  been  examining  the  papers  in  the  tin  box  left  by  my 
aunt,  but  the  mystery  is  deeper  than  ever.  I  found  half  a 
dozen  pages  of  a  diary  torn  out  of  a  book  and  tied  with  a 
string.  They  were  evidently  left  in  the  box  by  mistake.  The 
handwriting  bears  a  resemblance  to  that  of  my  late  aunt,  but 
was  probably  that  of  my  dear  mother.  It  is  dated  January 
1,  1841.  I  now  send  you  a  copy;  the  first  part  was  written 
in  the  morning  of  that  day.     It  is  as  follows : 

"  This  is  the  day  long  expected  and  anxiously  looked  for, 
but  it  has  no  bright  expectations  for  me.  It  is  not  in  the 
power  of  my  large  fortune  to  buy  the  peace  of  mind  which  I 


HOME  AGAIN.  227 

have  lost.  But  will  he  dare  at  the  last  moment  to  wed  the 
cold  Martha  Ratlimine  and  forfeit  his  word  solemnly  pledged 
to  me?  Before  God  I  am  his  wife:  have  I  not  the  riijjht, 
then,  to  forbid  the  performance  of  this  marriage  ?  Shall  I  do 
it,  or  let  it* go  on?  What  a  grand  revenge  that  would  be  to 
stand  before  the  trembling  groom  and  tell  his  haughty  bride  that 
the  man  she  holds  by  the  hand  is  my  husband, — yes,  mine, — • 
and  never  shall  be  given  to  another  while  I  live !  Oh,  how  I 
love  that  man  !  What  a  feeble  word  that  is  to  express  my 
feeling  !  It  was  more  than  love,  it  was  idolatry.  I  worshipped 
him,  I  bowed  before  him ;  I  could  have  endured  his  anger  at 
times  if  only  he  was  mine  without  a  rival.  Who  of  the  many 
hundreds  that  will  be  gathered  in  the  old  South  Church  to- 
day will  suspect  that  the  great  Professor  Homerand,  the  highly 
gifted  son  of  Massachusetts  and  the  pride  of  the  far-famed 
universiiy,  is  guilty  of  perjury,  and  by  his  act  of  taking 
another  wife  while  I  live  violates  all  his  sacred  obligations  of 
manhood?  Yes,  I  will  go  to  the  church  and  be  guided  by  cir- 
cumstances  " 

Adrien,  my  husband,  is  it  possible  that  all  of  this  terrible 
record  stands  as  a  fearful  blot  against  your  honored  father  ?  I 
will  again  quote  from  these  notes  of  the  same  date : 

"  Midnight  of  New-Year's-Day. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  how  shall  I  bear  all  the  agony  of  this  hour  ! 
My  brain  is  reeling  under  its  terrible  load,  and  I  see  no  hope 
but  in  madness  or  death.  I  sat  in  the  church  to-day  thickly 
veiled,  and  saw  the  man  I  once  worshipped  walk  up  the  aisle, 
and  heard  him  pledge  himself  to  another  when  he  was  already 
mine.  I  saw  his  pale,  frightened  face  in  an  agony  of  terror 
when  the  ofl&ciating  minister  asked  if  any  one  knew  of  an  im- 
pediment to  this  marriage  to  make  it  known.  Oh,  how  I  wanted 
to  raise  my  voice  in  a  thunder-tone  and  say,  I  forbid  it,  for  he  is 
my  husband.  But  I  dare  not  expose  my  own  shame.  So  I  had 
to  let  him  pledge  his  false  vows  of  love,  for  I  knew  he  did  not  love 
Martha  Rathmine.  He  could  not,  because  his  heart  was  mine. 
When  the  blessing  was  pronounced  upon  the  wedded  pair  I 
wanted  to  pronounce  a  curse.  I  stood  at  the  door  as  he  handed 
his  Martha  into  the  carriage.  He  turned  round  and  saw  me,  for 
I  raised  my  veil  and  lifted  my  hand  to  heaven  to  indicate  that 
the  curse  would  come  down  upon  him  and  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren ;  and  I  now  utter  a  curse  upon  any  relative  of  mine  who 


228  ILIAN. 

shall  dare  to  attempt  to  set  aside  that  which  I  have  registered 
in  heaven.  How  shall  I  face  the  future,  which  to  me  is  with- 
out any  ray  of  hope? " 

Adrien,  there  is  no  more  ;  the  balance  of  the  notes  I  can- 
not find.  I  have  searched  all  the  papers,  and  yet' I  feel  that 
the  missing  links  have  not  been  destroyed.  Was  ever  woman 
placed  as  I  am  ?  I  love  you,  my  darling  Adrien,  with  the 
whole  energy  of  my  nature,  and  yet  that  awful  curse  registered 
by  my  mother  rises  from  the  past  and  creates  a  formidable 
barrier  between  us,  which  no  mortal  power  can  remove.  There 
is  but  one  course ;  we  must  never  meet  again  on  this  side  of 
eternity.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  by  the  Cunard 
steamship  which  sails  early  to-morrow.  I  will  write  to  Dr. 
Rechard  and  explain  to  him  as  much  as  may  be  necessary.  In 
some  quiet  place  in  Europe  1  will  live  alone  with  my  maid. 
I  solemnly  charge  you  by  all  the  love  you  bear  me  not  to 
search  out  my  residence.  If  I  can  ever  explore  the  mystery 
of  my  birth  I  will  let  you  know.  But  as  no  human  power 
can  recall  the  curse  that  separates  us,  we  must  patiently  wait 
until  we  are  both  freed  from  the  limitations  of  this  life,  then, 
in  a  purer,  brighter  sphere,  there  may  be  eternal  happiness  in 
store  for  us.  When  you  arrive  in  New  York  go  directly  to 
the  Rendeem  mansion.  Telegraph  to  John  Rendeem  wheu 
to  expect  you,  and  he  will  meet  you.  Our  marriage  must 
never  be  made  known.  Dr.  Rechard  will  hold  fast  the  secret, 
and  Sam  you  can  rely  upon.  Send  word  to  your  father  from 
New  York  of  your  arrival.  I  would  advise  you  to  go  to  Paris, 
and  amidst  its  gay  scenes  try  to  forget  all  the  misery  I  have 
caused  you.  I  will  to-morrow  place  to  your  credit  at  my 
banker's  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  I  will  instruct  him  to 
pay  you  ten  thousand  dollars  every  year.  This  belongs  to  you 
as  your  right.  It  is  possible  that  this  may  be  the  last  letter  I 
will  ever  write  to  you.  But  come  what  may,  my  love  for  you 
will  never  change.  I  am  now,  as  I  expect  to  be  up  to  the  hour 
of  my  death, 

Your  loving,  but  heart-broken, 

Ilian. 

Thrice  was  this  letter  read,  and  the  strong  man  bowed  his 
head  in  the  agony  of  grief  which  his  faithful  Sam  sought  in 
vain  to  soothe  and  restrain.     For  two  hours  he  never  moved 


HOME  AGAIN.  229 

or  spoke.  At  last  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and,  going  to  the 
window,  looked  at  the  sky  as  if  to  read  a  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem contained  in  Ilian's  letter.  Turning  to  his  servant,  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  voice  hardly  recognizable  as  his  own, — 

"  Sam,  pack  up  my  trunk,  pay  all  the  bills,  and  let  us  leave 
at  once  for  New  York."  He  laid  his  pocket-book  on  the 
table  saying,  "  You  will  find  money  enough  there." 

"  Don't  got  no  bills  to  pay  in  dis  'ere  hotel,"  was  the  reply. 
De  landlord  say  all  paid,  and  he  got  a  heap  ob  money  for 
your  credit." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  unhappy  man  ;  "  you  keep  charge  of 
everything;  I  am  too  ill  to  attend  to  finances." 

Within  two  hours  they  were  speeding  to  New  York,  where 
they  arrived  early  next  morning.  Adrien  decided  to  go 
directly  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  where,  after  registering, 
he  looked  over  several  pages  of  the  register  and  saw  Ilian's 
name.  In  a  careless  tone  he  asked  the  clerk  whether  Miss 
Mordine  had  left. 

"  Yes ;  she  sailed  yesterday  for  Europe,"  was  the  answer. 

This  was  what  he  expected.  He  sent  a  telegraphic  despatch 
to  John  Rendeem  announcing  his  arrival,  and  also  one  to  his 
father  saying  he  was  very  ill  and  asking  him  to  come  on  at 
once.  He  then  went  to  his  room,  where  he  made  prepara- 
tions to  cover  his  tracks  for  the  past  two  years.  Sam  had 
already  been  instructed  by  Dr.  Rechard  on  this  point,  but 
further  explanation  was  necessary.  He  felt  that  he  was  for- 
tunate in  having  such  a  faithful  valet.  Sam  was  indeed 
phrewd,  and  no  amount  of  pumping  could  get  any  thing  out  of 
him  that  was  necessary  to  keep  concealed. 

Adrien  had  now  somewhat  recovered  from  the  shock  of 
Ilian's  two  letters,  and  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  aroused 
him  as  nothing  else  would.  If  his  false  position  were  dis- 
covered, even  though  the  war  were  ended,  yet,  in  the  present 
temper  of  the  Northern  people,  the  death-penalty  might  be 
inflicted,  or  there  would  be  a  long  term  of  imprisonment. 
And  how  could  his  father  and  mother  bear  the  awful  infor- 
mation that  their  only  son  had  deserted  the  flag  of  his  country? 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  follow  Ilian's  advice  and  go  to  Paris. 
Every  day  was  dangerous  ;  New  York  was  filled  with  South- 
ern officers,  and  some  of  his  old  comrades  might  recognize 
him. 

20 


230  ILIAN. 

An  hour  later  John  Rendeem  was  announced,  and  the 
meeting  between  these  old  college  friends  was  cordial  in  the 
extreme.  John  lamented  the  sudden  departure  of  Miss 
Mordine.  He  remarked  that  he  had  made  an  appointment 
with  her  for  a  walk  on  the  evening  before  her  departure,  but 
that  she  had  sent  word  to  his  mother  that  she  would  be  out 
of  town  all  day  till  late  in  the  night,  and  yesterday  they 
received  a  note  saying  that  she  was  about  to  sail  for  Europe 
to  escape  the  annoyance  of  the  secret-service  agents. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  arrival  of  John,  Adrien  received  a 
message  from  his  father  stating  that  he  and  his  mother  would 
be  due  in  New  York  by  six  o'clock,  and  would  go  directly  to 
his  hotel  and  meet  him  there.  A  pressing  invitation  was 
given  by  John  Rendeem  to  go  to  his  home,  but  this  was 
declined.  Adrien  said  he  would  be  glad  to  welcome  his 
family  if  they  would  call  upon  him.  Two  hours  after,  John 
returned  with  his  father  and  mother  and  two  sisters.  The 
welcome  was  a  grand  one,  for  Adrien  had  virtually  risen  up  from 
the  dead.  Alice  shed  tears  freely  as  she  took  his  hand,  and 
said,  in  a  quiet  tone, — 

"  If  I  had  only  known  you  were  alive  a  month  ago." 

"  Why  a  month  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  will  tell  you  some  other  time." 

The  ladies  agreed  to  stay  for  lunch  and  keep  him  company, 
and  tell  him  all  the  news  about  his  old  friends.  John  said 
he  would  meet  the  train  from  Boston.  The  time  passed 
pleasantly,  as  there  were  so  many  questions  to  ask  and  to 
answer.  He  was  urged  to  come  to  their  home  and  stay  for 
at  least  a  week,  and  they  would  nurse  him.  But  he  was  firm 
in  his  resolution  to  remain  where  he  was.  It  was  more  than 
likely,  he  said,  that  he  would  return  to  his  home  in  Boston, 
next  day,  with  his  father,  as  he  needed  the  rest  and  seclusion 
of  the  home  of  his  boyhood,  and  his  dear  mother  never  would 
consent  to  any  one  else  nursing  him  but  herself  As  soon  as 
his  visitors  left  he  took  a  much-needed  rest  to  fortify  him  for 
the  interview  with  his  parents. 

At  half-past  six  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  hotel  and  the 
genial  John  Rendeem  entered  the  room,  saying, — 

"Adrien,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  brought  those  whose  hearts 
are  made  supremely  happy,  because  their  son,  whom  they 
mourned  as  dead  and  buried  in  a  far-off  Southern  grave,  is 


NEMESIS.  231 

once  more  alive  to  cheer  them  in  their  declining  years.  I 
"will  now  leave  you  alone  with  them." 

The  next  moment  the  dignified,  gray-haired  Professor 
Homerand  was  embracing  one  that  was  dearer  than  his  own 
life,  and  exclaiming,  "Adrien,  my  son,  am  I  dreaming,  or  do 
I  really  hold  you  in  my  arms?" 

Then  his  mother  came  to  him,  and,  with  the  tears  fast 
flowing  down  her  face,  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  laid 
her  head  on  his  shoulder  ;  her  heart  was  too  full  for  utterance. 
All  she  could  say  was, — 

"  Thank  God  !  a  thousand  thanks  !  my  boy  has  come  back 
to  me  from  the  dead.  Oh,  Adrien,  Adrien,  is  this  indeed  a 
reality  ?" 

We  must  leave  them  alone  for  a  while ;  the  scene  is  too 
sacred  for  intrusion.  It  was  a  foretaste  to  them  of  a  celestial 
home ;  it  was  the  one  bright  gleam  of  happiness  that  shone 
like  the  parting  rays  of  the  setting  sun  in  the  horizon,  before 
the  ushering  in  of  the  dark  night,  when  the  evil-doers  come 
forth  from  their  hiding-places. 

As  Adrien  had  predicted,  they  left  next  afternoon  for  Bos- 
ton by  the  Fall  River  line,  taking  Sam  with  them,  and  once 
more  the  old  mansion  opened  its  doors  to  the  heir  who  was 
mourned  for  as  being  dead. 

The  wanderer  was  at  home  at  last. 


CHAPTER  III. 


NEMESIS. 


Professor  Homerand  was  worried  over  both  the  mental 
and  physical  condition  of  his  son.  The  war-service  had 
wrought  a  vast  change  in  him.  Several  physicians,  who  were 
called  upon  to  advise  as  to  the  best  course  to  pursue  for 
restoration  to  health,  unanimously  recommended  a  long  tour 
abroad.  There  was  an  expression  of  fear  upon  his  counte- 
nance something  akin  to  that  of  a  man  hounded  down  by  officers 
of  the  law.     When  his  friends  and  relations  called  to  express 


232  ILIAN. 

their  congratulations,  he  looked  eagerly  into  their  faces  to  see 
if  they  suspected  the  plausible  story  which  he  had  invented 
to  account  for  his  mysterious  disappearance  for  the  past  two 
years.  His  mother  was  the  only  one  who  had  power  to 
soothe  him  when  the  spirit  of  restlessness  was  most  active. 
He  longed  to  make  her  a  coniSdant,  and  tell  her  the  true  story 
of  his  entrance  into  the  Confederate  army,  but  he  dreaded 
wounding  her  maternal  pride.  She  was  proud  of  his  war- 
record,  and  he  doubted  whether  her  love  for  him  would  stand 
such  a  strain  as  to  learn  the  fact  that  the  boy  she  idolized  had 
incurred  the  dreadful  stigma  of  a  traitor  and  deserter.  The 
Rathmine  blood  would  boil  in  terrible  indignation  at  such  a 
taint  upon  the  fair  name  of  their  family.  Adrien  quailed 
before  the  portrait  of  his  grandfather,  Judge  Rathmine,  which 
hung  upon  the  walls  in  the  drawing-room.  He  had  been 
fully  warned  by  him  in  a  dream  in  New  Orleans,  on  the  day 
of  that  awful  scene,  but  had  delayed  obedience  to  it  till  it  was 
too  late.  He  thought  the  eyes  followed  him  with  a  fierce 
glare,  and  the  lips  seemed  to  his  overwrought  imagination  to 
be  continually  pronouncing  the  word  "  traitor."  The  pro- 
fessor noted  with  pain  that  his  son  avoided  him  as  much  as 
possible.  He  attributed  this  to  the  long  illness  which  he  had 
suffered  during  his  captivity.  A  few  days  after  his  return 
home  Adrien  made  up  his  mind  to  ask  his  father  to  solve  the 
problem  of  his  relation  to  Ilian's  mother.  He  asked  in  a  care- 
less way  whether  he  had  ever  met  Miss  Mordine,  of  whom  the 
papers  were  speaking  so  much,  and  who  was  styled  the  great 
rebel  female  spy. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  do  not  know  any  thing  of  her 
except  from  newspaper  reports.  Her  aunt,  Mrs.  Verdere, 
died  in  Boston  just  at  the  opening  of  the  war;  but,  my  dear 
boy,  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Rendeem  that  you  met  this  beautiful 
rebel  at  her  home  just  before  you  sailed  for  the  Wtst  Gulf 
Squadron  in  1861,  and  we  had  rumors  here  that  you  were 
very  intimate  with  her  at  New  Orleans  when  your  ship  was 
stationed  there.  Do  you  know  that  your  mother  and  myself 
surmised  that  she  was  the  fair  bride  that  Dr.  Rechard  referred 
to  in  his  letter  two  weeks  ago,  and  which  was  the  most  wel- 
come intelligence  that  I  ever  received?  Our  hearts  over- 
flowed with  gratitude  when  we  heard  that  our  dear  boy  was 
alive  and  on  his  way  home.     Why  do  you  not  give  us  some 


NEMESIS.  233 

information  about  the  young  lady  who  nursed  you  through 
your  ilhiess  in  yellow-fever  and  whom  we  expected  you  would 
bring  back,  and  we  would  have  two  children  to  sustain  us  in 
our  old  age  ?" 

"  Our  prospective  marriage,  as  I  have  repeatedly  told  you," 
said  Adrien,  "  I  have  promised  to  keep  a  secret  for  the 
present.  Her  family  are  opposed  to  the  union  of  their 
daughter  with  the  son  of  Professor  Ilomerand." 

"  Oh,  yes."  replied  the  professor,  "  I  suppose  it  will  take 
some  time  for  that  bitter  feeling  to  die  out.  The  life-long 
friend  of  Senator  Sumner  cannot  be  acceptable  to  the  fire- 
eaters  of  the  South.  I  was  too  old  to  go  to  the  war  myself, 
but  I  freely  gave  my  influence  and  my  money,  and  you  went, 
my  dear  Adrien,  as  my  representative.  When  the  news  came 
of  your  untimely  end,  your  dear  mother  and  myself  thought 
we  would  sink  under  the  blow.  I  never  knew  how  much  I 
loved  you  until  that  bitter  hour  came.  But  tell  me  some  of 
the  particulars  of  your  being  made  prisoner ;  you  must  have 
been  betrayed.     Had  Miss  Mordine  any  thing  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  I  cannot  go  into  any  of  the  details  at  present,"  Adrien 
answered.     "  I  am  bound  by  a  terrible  oath." 

"  But  is  there  no  limitation  to  this  oath  ?"  his  father 
asked. 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  replied  the  son  ;  "  and  the  time  will  come 
when  I  can  tell  you  all.  One  of  the  stipulations  was  that  I 
should  not  make  known  any  of  the  facts  of  which  I  had  be- 
come possessed  to  either  the  War  or  Navy  Departments ;  I 
also  obligated  myself  to  leave  the  country  within  a  month 
after  my  return  home,  and  to  remain  abroad  at  least  five  years, 
and  the  record  of  my  death  was  to  stand  unchallenged  on  the 
books  of  the  Navy  Department." 

"  The  secrets  you  held  must  have  been  very  important,"  the 
professor  remarked. 

"  Yes,"  Adrien  answered;  "  they  were  of  vital  importance." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  would  like  to  know,"  his  father 
asked,  "  if  your  oath  will  permit, — did  Miss  Mordine  have 
any  thing  to  do  with  these  matters  of  making  you  a  prisoner 
or  your  release  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?" 

"  Because,"  said  the  professor,  "  it  is  well  known  that  she 
was  the  moving  spirit  of  the  secret  service  of  the  Confeder- 

20* 


234  ILIAN. 

ate  government.  Furthermore,  her  great  beauty  absolutely 
blinded  some  of  our  leading  men,  from  whom  she  obtained 
valuable  information,  which  she  used  for  the  Southern  cause. 
I  have  it  on  good  authority  that  even  the  stern  and  matter-of- 
fact  Mr.  Stanton  was  not  at  all  times  able  to  withstand  her 
smiles  and  her  tears." 

"  Why,  father,  you  interest  me,"  Adrien  exclaimed.  "  I 
had  no  idea  she  was  so  celebrated.     Who  was  her  mother  ?" 

"That  I  do  not  know,"  the  professor  replied.  "  Her  name, 
Ilian,  is  a  singular  one.  •  It  was  chosen  by  me  over  twenty- 
five  years  ago  to  give  my  own  daughter  if  I  ever  had  one. 
I  supposed  I  had  a  monopoly  of  that  name ;  but  it  seems 
not." 

"  Did  you  ever  mention  this  fact  to  any  one  ?V  Adrien 
eagerly  asked. 

The  eyes  of  the  son  sought  those  of  the  father  to  read,  if 
possible,  the  secrets  of  the  past.  The  gray-headed  professor, 
however,  had  not  trained  himself  in  vain  for  quarter  of  a 
century.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  the  woman  who  should 
have  been  his  wife,  and  he  wondered  if  her  love  had  been  so 
great  that  when  she  married  another  man  she  would  call  her 
daughter,  if  she  had  one,  by  the  name  that  he  had  often  spoken 
of  as  his  pet  hobby.  Then  again  he  thought  of  her  sister, 
whom  he  never  met.  She  had  married,  and  perhaps  the 
name  was  given  to  a  child  of  hers.  He  resolved  that  if  he 
could  only  meet  Ilian  he  would  investigate  this  matter. 

Adrien  observed  that  his  father  had  gone  into  a  revery,  and 
presently  repeated  his  question. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  response  ;  "  I  did  many  years  ago  ;  but  why 
should  I  resuscitate  dead  facts  that  have  Iain  so  long  buried, 
but  not  forgotten  ?  There  are  many  men,  Adrien,  who 
have  skeletons  in  their  closets  and  a  Nemesis  in  their  heart 
exacting  the  full  measure  of  retributive  justice  for  some  deed 
of  the  past,  committed  perhaps  in  a  thoughtless  hour  when 
passion  usurped  the  place  of  reason.  I  thank  God,  my  dear 
boy,  that  you  have  been  spared  tribulation  of  this  kind. 
You  have,  no  doubt,  suffered  from  illness  and  deprivation  of 
your  liberty,  and  your  bright  naval  career  was  arrested  almost 
in  its  zenith,  but  you  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
you  made  a  sacrifice  for  your  country  and  flag.  This  may 
never  be  acknowledged,  but  you  do  not  need  a  pecuniary 


THE  EXILES.  235 

reward.  I  have  a  large  fortune  which  is  yours  ;  so  that  you 
•will  not  want  in  any  way.  Make  up  your  mind  now  to  enjoy 
the  good  things  of  life,  and  this  little  affair  of  your  heart 
may  be  settled  before  long,  and  you  can  be  restored  to  the 
woman  of  your  choice.  But  nothing  of  what  I  said  must  be 
mentioned  to  your  mother." 

Thus  was  the  wedge  fairly  inserted,  and  Nemesis  was  on 
the  trail. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    EXILES. 


Ten  days  after  Adrien's  return  home  he  received  the  anx- 
iously-expected letter  from  Dr.  Rechard,  as  follows: 

New  Orleans,  June  28,  1865. 

Adrien,  my  dear  College  Chum,— Ilian's  letter  and 
also  your  own  are  at  hand.  I  am  bewildered  at  what  has 
taken  place  ;  I  cannot  understand  it.  I  arrived  here  feeling 
quite  unwell,  but  will  go  on  and  see  you  if  I  can  help  you  in  any 
way.  After  carefully  reading  both  your  letters  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  some  family  mystery  between 
you  that  perhaps  your  father  may  be  able  to  clear  up.  Why 
not  question  him  upon  this  subject, — better  still,  make  him  a 
confidant  ?  Tell  him  candidly  without  any  reservation  of  the 
past  two  years,  and  be  guided  by  his  advice.  In  a  crisis 
like  this  there  is  no  one  so  reliable  as  one's  father,  and  es- 
pecially a  father  like  yours.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the 
more  I  am  convinced  that  he  can  supply  the  missing  links  for 
the  chain  of  evidence  needed  to  solve  the  problem  of  Ilian's 
departure.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  decided  to  go  abroad  as 
soon  as  possible  ;  perhaps  you  may  meet  your  wife  ;  and  after  all 
is  made  clear  and  satisfactory  to  her  I  know  she  will  cling  to 
you  while  life  lasts.  Her  present  place  of  sojourn  I  do  not 
know,  except  the  fact  that  she  left  for  England. 

I  have  charge  of  her  interests  here  and  in  South  Carolina. 
The  war  damaged  her  property  very  much  and  Colonel  Hor- 
tense  neglected  it.     I  hope,  however,  with  care,  to  make  it 


236  ILIAN. 

more  valuable  than  ever.  I  am  to  send  the  income  of  her 
property  to  her  banker  in  New  York  ;  and  she  asked  me  as  a 
great  I'avor  not  to  seek  by  any  means  to  find  out  whither  she 
had  gone  till  further  instructions. 

Write  to  me,  my  dear  Adrien,  as  often  as  you  are  able.  I 
assure  you  I  feel  more  than  language  can  express  our  separa- 
tion, after  being  so  constantly  together  for  two  years.  I 
think  it  fortunate  that  you  have  Sam  with  you.  You  will 
find  him  a  devoted  fellow,  and  the  trip  abroad  will  be  of  great 
advantage  to  him,  for  he  has  latent  talents  of  a  high  order. 
Since  my  return  I  saw  his  mother,  who,  as  you  are  aware, 
was  one  of  Ilian's  slaves.  She  is  to  be  handsomely  provided 
for  while  she  lives.  She  told  me  that  Sam's  father  was  one 
of  the  leading  surgeons  of  New  Orleans,  who  owned  her  and 
promised  to  educate  the  boy.  No  doubt  he  would  have  done 
so,  if  he  had  lived,  but  he  was  thrown  from  his  carriage  by  a 
runaway  horse  and  killed,  and  so  Sam  and  his  mother  were 
sold  with  the  rest  of  the  slaves.  There  is,  therefore,  a  good 
foundation  of  brains  to  build  upon. 

In  regard  to  yourself,  I  admit  that  this  is  a  dark  period  in 
your  history ;  but  take  courage  from  past  experience.  Three 
times  in  the  last  two  years  I  have  seen  you  nigh  unto  death, 
and  yet  you  came  out  of  the  ordeal  with  renewed  vigor. 

This  city  is  fast  recovering  from  the  war.  Colonel  Ormond 
has  just  returned  from  a  Northern  prison.  He  was  in  Fort 
Warren.  He  is  about  to  resume  his  old  business  of  law,  and 
his  son  will  study  with  him.  Mrs.  Ormond  is  as  charming 
as  ever.  I  told  her  the  other  day  that  you  had  returned 
home,  having  been  a  close  prisoner,  and  that  the  rumor  of  your 
death  was  a  false  one.  I  do  not  know  whether  she  suspected 
the  truth,  for  she  asked,  with  a  smile,  if  Ilian  had  any  hand  in 
it  ?  Colonel  Ormond,  not  having  seen  you  when  you  were  in 
the  Federal  navy,  of  course  did  not  recognize  you  under  the 
gray.  I  saw  him  yesterday,  and  he  told  me,  when  referring 
to  his  comrades,  that  he  was  delighted  to  hear  that  the  gallant 
Colonel  Mackenzie  had  recovered  from  his  wounds  and  sailed 
for  his  home  in  England.  Colonel  Hortense  arrived  here  the 
day  after  I  did,  and  had  the  audacity  to  ask  for  a  year's  salary 
in  lieu  of  notice  of  being  discharged.  His  mother  was  arrested 
by  Pinkerton's  agent  in  New  York  and  sent  here.  Your 
friend  Ned  Burrows  is  at  home  and  fully  recovered  from  his 


THE  EXILES.  237 

wounds.  His  sister  Lulu  is  to  be  married  to  a  Federal  army 
officer.  Who  would  have  thought  such  a  thing  possible  three 
years  ago  ?     But  love  makes  no  distinction  in  politics, 

I  must  now  bring  my  letter  to  a  close.  Do  not  fail  to  write 
to  me  from  Europe,  and  I  will  promptly  answer  all  your 
letters. 

With  best  wishes  for  your  welfare  and  earnest  hopes  for 
your  speedy  recovery, 

I  remain, 

Your  true  friend, 

Henry  Kechard,  M.D. 

This  letter  encouraged  Adrien  to  hope  for  a  solution  of  the 
mystery,  and  that  he  and  Ilian  would  yet  be  able  to  live  to- 
gether in  peace  and  harmony  and  free  from  all  overhanging 
curses.  He  had  strong  hopes  of  meeting  her  abroad,  and 
that  a  settlement  could  be  effected. 

It  was  just  two  weeks  from  the  time  of  his  return  home 
that  he  left  it  again ;  but  this  time  in  company  with  his  father 
and  mother,  and  Sam  as  their  servant. 

They  went  directly  to  the  Cunard  steamship,  and  with  only 
a  few  friends  to  see  them  off  they  embarked.  Among  those 
present  was  Mr.  Thomas  Homerand,  the  professor's  only 
brother,  and  his  wife.  They  came  on  from  their  home  in 
Hartford  for  that  purpose.  He  was  a  lawyer  of  some  stand- 
ing. He  was  several  years  younger  than  the  professor,  and 
had  also  inherited  a  goodly  share  of  the  genius  and  talent  of 
the  family. 

He  had  no  children,  and  purposed  to  leave  all  he  had  to 
Adrien,  whom  he  loved  with  a  deep  affection.  He  was  a  man 
of  considerable  wealth  and  very  charitable.  He  maintained  a 
high  code  of  morals  and  ethics,  and  a  transgression  on  this 
point  was  in  his  mind  an  unpardonable  sin  which  found  no 
forgiveness  though  sought  with  tears.  He  placed  a  letter  in 
Adrien's  hands  which  was  not  to  be  opened  till  land  was  out 
of  sight.  Both  the  brothers  were  in  a  very  serious  frame  of 
mind.  They  shook  hands,  and  with  tears  in  their  eyes  said 
"  farewell."  The  parting  of  the  sisters-in-law  was  also  a 
sorrowful  one.  The  uncle  and  aunt  both  embraced  Adrien, 
for  he  was  almost  as  a  son  to  them. 

Sam  was  the  only  one  of  the  party  who  did  not  partake  of 


238  ILIAN. 

the  sadness  that  raarked  the  occasion.  He  was  at  the  very 
climax  of  his  glory.  His  light  mulatto  face  was  radiant  with 
the  excess  of  his  joy,  his  eyes  flashed  with  keen  delight,  and 
his  hungry  soul  felt  that  his  great  opportunity  was  at  hand. 
The  shackles  had  been  removed  both  from  body  and  mind,  and 
it  was  no  longer  a  felony  to  teach  him  to  read,  to  write,  and 
develop  the  talents  which  his  Maker  had  intrusted  to  him. 

"  Sam,"  said  the  professor,  "  do  you  not  dread  sea-sickness? 
This  will  be  your  first  experience  of  ocean  travel,  will  it  not?" 

'•  No,  Massa  Homerand,"  replied  he ;  "  dis  child  hub  some 
awful  feelin'  in  de  stomach  before." 

"  When  was  that?"  the  professor  asked. 

"  De  time  dat  Mas&a  Adrien  and  de  rest  ob  de  prisoners 
came  from  Fort  Fisher," 

"  Fort  Fisher  !"  the  professor  exclaimed,  with  surprise.  "  I 
thought  you  came  by  land  to  New  York?" 

A  warning  glance  from  Adrien  reminded  Sam  that  he  was 
treading  on  dangerous  ground.  This  was  noticed  by  the  pro- 
fessor. He  quickly  surmised  that  there  was  some  mystery  of 
which  he  had  been  kept  in  ignorance,  and  quietly  resolved  to 
try  the  pumping  process  on  Sam  at  the  first  convenient  op- 
portunity.    Sam,  however,  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  Massa  Adrien  was  delibered  wid  some  odder  prisoners  to 
de  Federal  folks  at  Fort  Fisher,  and  we  don  gone  and  come 
North  in  de  army  transport,  and  he  hab  agreed  to  go  to  Canada 
as  he  don  told  you,  but  dat  was  changed,  and  dey  let  him  come 
home.  Lor  a  massa,  I  thought  dis  'ere  nigger  die  sure  when 
dat  'ere  vessel  rolled,  and  arter  two  hours  I  don  gone  asked 
some  of  de  sailor-folks  to  throw  dis  child  ober  in  de  sea,  life 
was  not  worth  de  living,  and  den  dey  all  laughed,  and  don't 
got  no  sympathy.  You  don't  suppose  dis  'ere  steamer  cut  up 
such  nonsense  ?" 

A  roar  of  laughter  from  the  Homerand  fiimily  and  their 
friends  greeted  this  inquiry.  They  were  very  much  amused 
at  the  earnest  inquiring  tone  of  Sam,  and  it  had  the  efi'ect  of 
bringing  the  sunshine  to  all  of  their  faces.  The  tears  were 
wiped  away  and  good-byes  were  said  with  less  of  the  grieving 
tone  that  had  characterized  their  previous  conversation. 

Slowly  but  nuijestically  the  ocean-bound  steamer  left  her 
pier,  and  the  friends  with  their  waving  handkerchiefs  were 
soon  lost  to  view.    Adrien  now  felt  that  he  was  an  exile  indeed  ; 


THE  EXILES.  239 

not  banished  by  any  decree  of  his  government,  but  by  the  fear 
of  what  that  government  might  do  if  all  should  be  made 
known.  He  had  no  settled  plans  in  view  except  to  live  some- 
where without  fear  of  detection.  Could  he  ever  safely  return 
to  the  land  of  his  fathers,  made  doubly  dear  to  him  now  that 
he  was  looking  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  upon  the  fast-receding 
shore  ?  ^  Before  him  was  the  great  ocean,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  it  the  woman  whom  he  hoped  to  meet,  who  was  his 
lawful  wedded  wife.     Why  had  cruel  fate  parted  them  thus  ? 

What  a  boon  hope  is  to  the  human  heart !  On  the  follow- 
ing morning  he  opened  his  uncle's  letter,  and  found  a  draft  on 
a  London  bunk  for  five  thousand  dollars,  with  words  of  encour- 
agement and  earnest  wishes  for  a  full  restoration  to  health. 

The  passage  across  the  Atlantic  was  made  without  any  par- 
ticular incident  worth  recording.  The  weather  was  favorable, 
with  light  winds  and  smooth  seas.  Sam  had  some  more  "  ter- 
rible commotions  ob  de  stomach,"  as  he  expressed  it.  He 
was  a  great  favorite  with  all  the  passengers,  and  every  evening 
after  dinner  he  amused  them  by  relating  incidents  of  his  slave- 
life  and  of  his  war-experience.  The  late  Captain  Tom  Jeffords 
received  a  good  deal  of  withering  sarcasm.  Sam  was  a  keen 
observer  of  human  nature,  and  cowardice  in  a  man  excited  his 
abhorrence.  Dr.  Rechard  was  not  mistaken  when  he  said  that 
he  had  talents  of  a  high  order  which  only  needed  the  oppor- 
tunity to  show  what  was  in  him. 

Professor  Homerand  now  resolved  to  develop  these  fncul- 
ties  by  a  course  of  judicious  instruction.  With  such  a  master, 
one  of  the  ablest  of  his  day,  and  a  pupil  with  a  burning  zeal 
for  knowledge,  the  reader  will  not  be  surprised  at  the  develop- 
ment and  the  rise  in  social  position  that  followed. 

When  the  Homerands  arrived  at  Liverpool  a  stay  was  made 
there  fur  a  few  days,  as  there  is  much  to  see  which  is  too 
often  neglected  by  the  average  tourist.  A  visit  was  paid  to 
Manchester,  and  the  house  pointed  out  to  Adrien  where  he 
was  born.  From  thence  they  went  to  Chester,  that  grand  old 
town  which  has  no  other  equal  for  its  style  of  architecture  in 
the  kingdom.  London  was  duly  reached,  and  the  purpose 
was  to  remain  a  month  before  going  to  Scotland.  A  week 
after  their  arrival  Adrien  was  taken  very  ill ;  in  fact,  he  had 
never  been  well  since  his  arrival  home.  His  wounds  did  not 
heal.     He   told  his  parents  that  he  got  them  in  a  desperate 


240  ILIAN. 

attempt  to  escape  from  his  prison.  In  addition  to  his  physi- 
cal ailment  his  mind  also  suffered,  and  at  last  he  was 
prostrated  by  a  severe  attack  of  brain  fever.  Sam  was  un- 
tiring in  his  attention,  and  seldom  left  the  sick-chamber, 
taking  his  intervals  of  rest  in  an  arm-chair.  He  was  afraid 
lest  his  master  in  his  delirium  might  disclose  the  secret  that 
would  bring  disgrace  upon  the  family  if  made  known.  A 
strong  constitution  finally  prevailed,  and  after  two  months  the 
disorder  yielded  to  the  treatment  employed,  but  the  full  recov- 
ery to  his  normal  condition  was  slow.  It  was  late  in  the 
autumn  when  the  professor  and  his  family  left  for  the  south 
of  France,  there  to  spend  the  winter. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ON    THE    BOULEVARDS. 

I  KNOW  of  no  extreme  so  great  and  the  change  it  has 
upon  both  body  and  mind  than  to  leave  London  in  Novem- 
ber and  journey  to  the  iar-famed  Riviera.  It  is  not  one 
particular  place  where  this  is  felt,  but  it  extends  from  Mar- 
seilles to  Vintimiglia.  I  draw  the  line  here,  for  beyond  this 
you  come  to  Genoa, — delightful  enough  in  spring  and 
autumn,  but  a  villainous  climate  in  December  and  January. 
I  speak  in  this  matter  not  by  hearsay  but  experience.  I 
would  not  advise  any  tourist  to  miss  seeing  Genoa  ;  but  if  a 
pleasant  impression  of  it  is  to  be  carried  away,  then  avoid  it 
in  the  two  months  which  I  have  named.  Nice  is  perhaps  the 
best  patronized  among  all  of  the  charming  towns  and  villages 
on  the  northern  side  of  the  Mediterranean.  Here  our 
sojourners  took  a  furnished  villa  on  the  Cornica  Road  leading 
to  Monte  Carlo,  that  garden-spot  of  the  world  which  nature 
has  so  richly  adorned,  but  man  has  made  a  hell.  I  never 
went  near  it,  but  I  heard  so  often  such  enthusiastic  descrip- 
tions of  it  that  I  seem  to  know  it  by  heart.  The  drive  to 
Monaco  from  Nice,  over  the  Cornica,  has  been  described 
in  such  glowing  terms  that  I  refrain  from  its  praise  as  de- 
scribed to  me  during  my  four  visits  to  Nice. 


ON   THE  BOULEVARDS.  2il 

Professor  Homerand  was  in  hopes  that  the  quiet  rest  of 
their  villa  would  completely  restore  Adrien's  health.  He 
was  moody  and  melancholy,  and  his  parents  soon  became  con- 
scious that  there  was  some  secret  of  his  life  which  he  had  not 
made  known  to  them.  Every  eflFort  was  put  forth  to  induce 
him  to  make  a  confidant  of  either  his  father  or  mother  or 
both,  but  without  avail.  They  believed  that  Sam  possessed  the 
clue,  but  no  amount  of  coaxing  or  promises  were  of  avail. 
His  answers  were  good-natured,  and  he  attributed  the  condi- 
tion of  his  master  to  the  severe  strain  upon  him  by  reason  of 
his  wounds  and  imprisonment. 

Adrien  sought  for  excitement  to  relieve  the  agony  of  heart 
at  the  loss  of  his  wife  in  the  very  hour  when  he  had  supposed 
that  all  his  trials  and  troubles  were  at  an  end.  He  tried  the 
fascination  of  the  gaming-table  at  Monte  Carlo.  It  made  no 
difference  whether  he  lost  or  won ;  what  he  wanted  was 
something  to  divert  his  thoughts.  As  a  rule  he  went  alone, 
and  it  was  often  late  at  night  when  he  returned. 

In  the  mean  time  Sam  was  making  rapid  progress  in  his 
studies.  This  afforded  occupation  for  the  professor,  who  had 
not  become  aware  of  the  strong  passion  for  gambling,  which 
was  gradually  taking  possession  of  his  son,  fur  he  made  no 
mention  of  the  fact  in  any  way. 

The  winter  and  spring  passed  without  any  other  special 
incident,  and  in  May  they  took  their  departure  for  Paris, 
where  in  handsome  apartments  facing  the  Champs  Elysees  they 
settled  down  to  enjoy  the  attractions  of  that  metropolis.  Adrien 
spent  most  of  his  time  by  day  on  the  Boulevards  watching 
with  keen  interest  the  faces  of  the  promenaders  and  the  occu- 
pants of  the  endless  line  of  carriages,  hoping  that  he  might 
catch  a  glance  of  Ilian.  He  knew  her  fondness  for  Paris, 
and  trusted  he  might  be  able  there  to  see  her  once  again.  At 
times  Sam  aided  him  in  this  search  ;  but  they  were  not  re- 
warded by  even  a  glimpse  of  the  lost  bride.  Thus  the  sum- 
mer of  1866  passed  away.  The  falling  of  the  autumn  leaves 
heralded  the  approach  of  winter. 

In  December  and  January  the  climate  of  Paris  is  somewhat 
akin  to  that  of  Genoa,  but  not  so  trying  to  a  foreigner.  Again 
Adrien  lost  large  sums  at  the  gambling-tables.  These  losses 
he  represented  to  his  father  had  been  incurred  searching  for 
news  of  his  affianced  wife.  Day  by  day  the  professor  besought 
■L         q  21 


242  ILIAN. 

his  son  to  make  a  confidant  of  him,  and  tell  who  the  lady  was, 
the  cause  of  their  separation,  and  why  the  marriage  did  not  take 
place.  At  times  there  was  a  fierce  contest  in  the  bosom  of 
the  son.  Two  potent  agents  sought  to  gain  control  over  him. 
One  advocated  a  frank  avowal  of  the  mystery  of  his  life  ;  the 
other  urged  procrastination.  The  latter  prevailed,  and,  taking 
his  father's  hand,  he  would  say, — 

"  Do  not  urge  this  matter  now ;  some  other  time  I  will  tell 
you  all." 

It  was  the  15th  day  of  November,  the  day  so  fateful  in 
his  father's  history,  and  also  his  own  birthday.  A  few 
friends  had  been  invited  to  dinner,  and  Adrien,  who  had 
been  awake  all  night  under  some  strange  restless  influence 
that  he  could  not  account  for,  went  out  at  noon  accompanied 
by  Sam  for  a  walk.  When  they  reached  the  Hotel  13ristol 
Adrien  told  his  servant  to  watch  the  carriages  as  they  passed  ; 
also  to  see  who  came  and  went  from  the  hotel.  He  himself, 
he  said,  would  go  to  the  Grand  Hotel.  It  seemed  the  very 
irony  of  fate  for  the  man  who  had  watched  day  by  day  for 
six  months,  that  in  five  minutes  after  he  left  the  Hotel 
Bristol  the  object  of  his  search  drove  up  to  the  door  and 
alighted  with  her  maid.  She  had  been  in  the  city  for  a  week, 
but  was  not  aware  that  the  professor  and  his  family  were  still 
sojourning  there.  As  her  foot  touched  the  pavement  from 
the  carriage-step  Sam  stood  respectfully  before  her,  and  in  a 
quiet  but  firm  tone  said, — 

"  Mrs.  Homerand,  my  heart  rejoices  to  see  you  once  more. 
The  sight  of  your  face  will  bring  back  the  light  of  other  days 
to  my  master,  your  husband." 

To  say  that  Ilian  was  astounded  and  amazed  would  be  but 
a  feeble  expression,  not  only  at  meeting  Sam,  but  at  the  altered 
expression  of  his  whole  demeanor.  A  year  ago,  when  last 
she  saw  him,  he  was  an  uneducated  slave  but  lately  liberated ; 
now  he  was  dressed  in  a  fashionable  suit  of  clothes,  his  man- 
ners and  dialect  of  negroism  had  gone,  his  language  was  cor- 
rect and  showed  careful  culture.  He  made  a  movement  as 
though  to  leave  her,  and  Ilian  surmised  at  once  his  intention 
to  give  notice  to  his  master ;  this  she  resolved  to  defeat. 

"  Sam,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you  in  my 
salon;  come  up  with  me  for  a  moment." 

He  hesitated  between  the  obedience  due  to  his  master's 


ON   THE  BOULEVARDS.  243 

commands  to  notify  him  without  the  slightest  delay,  should 
he  see  Mrs.  Homerand,  and  his  devotion  to  the  lady  who  had 
given  him  his  freedom,  and  was  the  meaas  of  placing  him  in 
his  present  superior  position. 

The  latter  seemed  to  him  the  better  impulse  ;  so  he  followed 
after  her,  exchanging  on  the  way  words  of  greeting  with  the 
maid.  When  they  were  alone  in  the  sdlon  she  offered  him  a 
glass  of  wine,  hoping  that  this  would  unloose  his  tongue,  so 
that  she  could  obtain  all  the  details  that  she  needed.  Sam 
had  been  tried  this  way  before,  not  only  by  the  professor  and 
his  wife,  but  by  others  anxious  to  get  clues  of  his  master's 
life.  Wine  only  put  him  on  his  guard,  and,  as  already  stated, 
he  was  proof  against  the  blandishments  of  flattery.  Ilian  in 
all  her  experiences  had  never  found  any  one  who  could  hold 
back  any  secret  she  wished  to,  obtain  ;  and  with  a  man  who 
only  a  few  months  back  had  been  her  purchased  slave  she 
expected  confidently  that  there  would  be  an  easy  victory. 
The  case  was  of  vital  interest  to  her  and  she  resolved  to  use 
her  best  arts. 

"  Sam,"  she  said,  "  I  see  that  your  year's  instruction  under 
the  great  professor  has  been  productive  of  grand  results,  yet 
not  more  than  I  should  have  expected  with  a  pupil  like  your- 
self, who  has  been  gifted  with  great  talents  that  only  needed 
developing." 

Sam  bowed  at  this  compliment,  and  placed  himself  doubly 
on  guard. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  taken  another  name  now  ?"  said  Ilian. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  have  taken  the  name  of  Andermatt, 
and  am  called  by  every  one  Samuel  Andermatt ;  but  to  you, 
my  late  mistress,  I  am  still  Sam,  at  your  service." 

"  Why  the  name  of  Andermatt  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  hesita- 
tion of  manner  and  a  searching  look  that  was  noticed  by  her 
keen-eyed  visitor. 

"  Because,"  said  Sam,  "  Professor  Homerand  said  that  it 
was  a  level  and  beautiful  plain  high  up  in  Mount  St.  Gothard, 
and  only  reached  after  a  toilsome  journey,  and  suggested  the 
name  for  me  as  indicative  of  the  rich  mental  pasture  that 
would  reward  my  efforts  up  the  rugged  hill  of  learning.  No 
doubt  you  have  visited  the  place." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  was  her  reply  ;  and  the  next  moment  she 
was  angry  with  herself  for  her  admission,  for  it  was  the  spot 


244  ILIAN. 

where  slie  had  remaiued  secluded  so  long,  and  she  was  hoping 
to  return  thither  the  following  summer. 

"  But  tell  me,  Sam,"  she  continued,  '•  how  is  it  that  the  pro- 
fessor and  your  master  are  still  in  Paris  ?  I  heard  they  had 
gone  to  Nice  for  the  winter." 

"  We  did  expect  to  leave  here  on  the  first  of  this  month," 
Sam  answered,  "  but  Mr.  x^drien,  your  husband,  was  anxious 
to  remain  here  longer." 

"  I  suppose  that  when  you  leave  this  hotel  you  will  notify 
him  that  you  have  seen  me  ?" 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  do  so." 

"  Sam,  I  believe  that  ingratitude  is  not  one  of  your  faults. 
You  surely  have  not  forgotten  my  former  services  to  you." 

"  Never  will  I  forget  how  much  I  am  indebted  to  you  in 
the  past,  and  I  know  and  fully  realize  that  but  for  you  I 
might  to-day  have  been  a  freedman  in  New  Orleans  working 
for  my  daily  bread,  and  without  any  higher  aspiration  than 
animal  delight,  whereas  I  am  now  on  the  highway  of  learning, 
and  am  able  to  read  and  speak  three  foreign  languages, — 
French,  German,  and  Italian." 

"  Then,  if  I  should  ask  you  not  to  inform  your  master  that 
you  have  seen  me,  what  would  you  say  ?" 

"  My  reply  would  be,  that  no  lady,  no  loving  and  loyal 
wife,  would  call  it  ingratitude  for  a  servant  to  be  faithful  to 
her  husband's  interest." 

"  Your  master  has,  then,  made  you  a  confidant  in  all  his 
private  matters  ?" 

"  He  has,  and  also  permitted  me  to  read  the  last  letter  you 
wrote  him." 

"  Then  you  must  be  aware  that  for  me  to  live  with  him  as 
his  wife  is  impossible  till  the  mystery  has  been  cleared  up. 
Why  does  he  not  seek  to  obtain  from  his  father  the  clue  to 
this?" 

"  I  have  never  yet  presumed  to  advise  my  master  as  to  what 
course  to  pursue  in  this,  his  relation  to  you  as  his  wife,"  Sam 
answered,  with  an  air  of  conscious  dignity.  "  I  guard  his  in- 
terest to  the  best  of  my  ability  and  keep  the  secrets  confided 
to  me ;  and  neither  his  father  nor  mother  have  been  able  to 
obtain  them  from  me." 

"Will  you  take  a  letter  to  him  if  I  write  one?"  Ilian 
asked. 


ECHOES  OF  THE  PAST.  245 

"  With  pleasure,"  Sam  replied  ;  "  I  know  that  the  sight  of 
your  handwriting  will  stir  the  impulses  of  his  heart  as  nothing 
has  done  for  many  a  long  day." 

Ilian  wrote  a  few  lines  anti  gave  them  to  Sam.  As  he  was 
leaving  she  took  from  the  white  cuffs  on  her  wrists  a  pair  of 
diamond-crested  sleeve-buttons  and  handed  them  to  him.  For 
a  moment  he  hesitated,  but  she  said, — 

"  As  your  master's  wife  and  your  former  friend,  take  them 
as  a  token." 

He  bowed  and  left,  but  resolved  never  to  wear  them.  He 
felt  that  it  would  be  desecration  to  do  so.  He  would  cherish 
them  while  life  lasted  as  sacred  relics. 

Ilian  was  disappointed.  She  had  expected  to  gain  the 
knowledge  which  she  wished,  but  had  been  overmatched  at 
all  points,  and  that  by  a  man  formerly  her  slave.  Her  plans 
were  quickly  formed.  She  called  for  her  bill,  and  in  fifteen 
minutes  had  left  the  hotel  with  her  luggage,  having  brought 
only  one  trunk  with  her.  She  left  word  for  any  one  who 
might  call  that  she  was  going  to  London,  but  she  went  directly 
to  the  Lyons  Station.  Late  at  night  she  and  her  maid  got  off 
at  a  small  town  near  the  great  manufacturing  city  of  Lyons. 

For  the  present  she  felt  secure. 


CHAPTER  VL 

ECHOES   OF   THE   PAST. 

Sam,  on  leaving  the  Hotel  Bristol  hastened  to  the  Grand 
Hotel,  but  could  not  find  his  master.  He  searched  the  salon 
and  gave  fees  to  several  of  the  waiters  who  aided  him  in  the 
search.  The  concierge,  who  had  been  out,  returned  in  twenty 
minutes  after  Sam  arrived  and  stated  that  he  had  seen  Mr. 
Adrien  Homerand  walking  arm  and  arm  with  a  friend  upon 
the  Boulevard.  Sam  surmised  at  once  that  he  had  gone  to 
one  of  his  favorite  gambUng  resorts,  and  he  set  out  to  find 
him. 

At  the  very  first  one  that  he  entered  he  saw  his  master  with 
21^ 


246  ILIAN. 

a  flushed  face,  staking  and  losing  heavy  sums.  He  had  been 
drinking  and  was  at  the  mercy  of  several  sharpers,  who,  under 
the  pretence  of  playing  at  cards,  were  robbing  him  outright. 
Prompt  action  was  necessary,  and  without  hesitation  he  went 
up  to  Adrien  and  whispered  in  bis  ear, — 

"  I  have  important  news  for  you." 

This  interruption  enraged  the  sharpers,  and  one  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  Adrien,  my  boy,  tell  that  infernal  nigger  of  yours  to  mind 
his  own  business  and  go  home  and  blacken  up  your  spare 
boots." 

Sam  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  then,  reaching 
over,  he  pressed  his  hand  against  the  breast  of  the  man  who 
made  this  insulting  remark,  and  with  a  slight  shove  sent  him 
backward,  chair  and  all,  then  whispered  in  Adrien's  ear  once 
more, — 

"  I  just  met  your  wife  at  the  Hotel  Bristol,  and  have  a  let- 
ter for  you." 

This  news  thrilled  through  Adrien  like  an  electric  shock. 
He  was  sober  in  an  instant.  Rising  from  the  table,  he  seized 
his  hat  and  made  for  the  door,  leaving  all  his  money  behind 
him  upon  the  table.  Sam,  however,  swept  it  into  his  hat,  as 
also  the  pile  that  was  on  the  opposite  side  belonging  to  the 
man  whom  he  had  upset  on  the  floor,  coolly  remarking, — 

"  This  money  is  my  master's,  and  you  have  cheated  him  out 
of  it.  I  will  see  that  notice  is  given  at  once  of  this  to  the 
commissary  of  the  police.  Good-day,  gentlemen."  And  bow- 
ing to  the  others  in  the  room,  he  followed  Adrien. 

No  one  dared  remonstrate,  for  Sam  stood  six  feet  high  and 
was  of  massive  proportions.  His  eyes  flashed  a  dangerous 
fire,  which  impressed  the  beholders  with  the  fact  that  it  was 
wisest  for  them  to  let  him  alone. 

On  arriving  at  the  Bristol,  Adrien,  who  was  well  known  to 
the  manager,  was  informed  that  Miss  Mordine  and  her  maid 
had  left  the  hotel  nearly  an  hour  previous  and  gone  to  London, 
having  received  an  important  telegraphic  despatch  that  rendered 
her  immediate  departure  imperative.  He  was  ushered  into 
the  salon  lately  occupied  by  her,  and,  asking  for  writing  ma- 
terials, he  was  left  alone  with  Sam,  who  gave  a  full  account  of 
his  interview  with  Ilian.  Adrien  then  took  from  his  pocket 
the  letter  that  she  had  written  and  read  as  follows : 


ECHOES  OF  THE  PAST.  24:*l 

Hotel  Bristol,  Parts,  November  15,  1866. 

Adrien,  my  unhappy  Husband, — I  use  this  term  because 
I  know  that  you  have  suffered  keenly  since  the  evening  of  our 
marriage,  when  I  was  compelled  to  leave  you  under  the  threat  of 
my  mother's  curse.  My  sufferings  have  been  as  great  as  yours, 
and  perhaps  greater.  My  love  for  you  has  grown  stronger,  and 
there  are  times  when  I  feel  that  I  can  no  longer  bear  the  fearful 
strain,  and  consider  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  risk  the 
curse  than  live  this  life  of  torture  and  anguish.  Can  the  pen- 
alty of  the  curse  be  greater  than  what  I  now  suffer  ?  When  I 
thus  hesitate,  an  undefined  dread  comes  over  me,  and  a  horror 
that  I  cannot  repress  overshadows  me,  and  compels  me  to  flee 
as  far  as  I  can  from  you.  Yet  I  love  you  as  woman  never 
loved  man  before.  I  beg  of  you  by  all  that  you  hold  sacred 
do  not  try  to  find  my  hiding-place ;  for  if  you  pursue  me  I 
may  have  to  seek  in  death  the  relief  which  I  cannot  find  in 
life.  Ask  your  father  for  the  clue  to  the  terrible  mystery  that 
is  around  our  lives,  and  send  me  the  information  through  my 
banker.  He  tells  me  that  you  absolutely  "refuse  to  take  the 
money  which  I  set  apart  for  your  use.  Why  treat  me. thus 
unkindly  ?  The  funds  are  yours,  and  if  you  love  me  you  will 
make  use  of  them. 

By  the  time  that  this  letter  reaches  you  I  shall  be  far  away. 
Will  we  ever  meet  again  ?  It  is  a  question  that  I  often  ask 
myself,  and  an  answer  comes  to  me  from  an  unknown  source 
that  makes  me  sick  at  heart. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  improvement  in  Sam's  education 
in  so  short  a  time.  Treat  him  kindly,  for  he  is  thoroughly 
devoted  to  your  interests. 

I  remain,  your  sorrowing,  heart-broken  wife, 

Ilian. 

After  reading  this  letter  Adrien  sat  for  an  hour  in  his  chair 
without  moving,  pondering  over  its  contents.  At  last  Sam 
spoke, — 

"  Master  Adrien,  shall  we  not  return  home  ?  You  know 
that  a  reception  is  to  be  given  this  evening  in  honor  of  your 
birthday,  and  that  your  father  and  mother  will  be  bitterly  dis- 
appointed if  you  are  not  there." 

With  a  deep  sigh,  that  indicated  how  much  he  was  suffer- 
ing, Adrien  arose,  left  the  hotel,  and  took  a  cab  to  his  apart- 


248  ILIAN. 

ments.  Outside  of  his  family  circle,  he  never  let  any  of  his 
friends  know  that  there  was  a  fire  within  that  was  slowly  but 
surely  destroying  the  foundation  of  his  life.  At  the  dinner- 
table  on  this  particular  evening  he  exhibited  almost  a  boyish 
exuberance  of  spirits.  He  kept  the  compaay  amused  with 
humorous  anecdotes,  and  during  the  evening  he  sang  some  of 
his  best  songs,  and  his  fingers  rattled  over  the  keys  of  the 
piano  with  a  power  that  fairly  thrilled  the  audience.  The  pro- 
fessor and  his  wife  were  delighted.  They  believed  the  spell 
to  be  broken  that  had  for  so  long  a  time  held  their  son  under 
its  baneful  influence.  Sam,  who  waited  upon  the  guests,  was 
the  only  one  who  was  not  deceived.  He  dreaded  the  reaction 
that  was  sure  to  follow  on  the  morrow,  and  resolved  to  intimate 
to  the  professor  that  very  evening  that  if  he  hoped  to  keep 
Adrien  in  his  present  frame  of  mind  they  must  leave  Paris 
the  very  next  day.  This  he  did  after  the  friends  had  gone 
home.  Adrien  had  retired  to  his  room,  and  Mrs.  Homerand 
had  also  gone  to  her  chamber.  The  professor  had  great  faith 
in  Sam's  judgment,  and,  after  hearing  what  he  suggested,  in- 
structed him  to  pack  up  the  trunks  and  they  would  set  out 
the  next  day  for  Naples.  Mrs.  Homerand,  when  she  heard 
of  the  proposition  to  leave  Paris,  did  not  acquiesce.  She  felt 
that  as  the  gayeties  of  Paris  had  effected  such  a  change  in 
their  son  it  would  be  foolish  to  leave.  She  was  so  em- 
phatic upon  this  point  that  her  husband  yielded,  and  seeking 
Sam's  chamber,  countermanded  the  order  for  packing  the 
trunks. 

The  following  morning  Adrien  resolved  to  follow  Ilian's 
advice,  contained  ia  her  last  letter,  to  obtain  from  his  father 
the  key  that  would  solve  the  vexatious  problem  that  was 
wearing  out  two  lives.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  he 
suggested  a  walk  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  reaching  a  re- 
tired place  they  sat  down.  Adrien  opened  the^subject  at  once 
without  any  preliminary  talk. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  my  wife  was  in  Paris  yesterday,  and 
left  at  once  as  soon  as  she  heard  I  was  here,  but  she  sent  me 
a  letter." 

"  Your  wife,  Adrien  !"  exclaimed  his  father.  "  You  never 
told  me  that  you  were  married." 

"  No,  I  am  aware  of  that ;  but  I  did  tell  you  that,  when 
the  proper  time  came,  I  would  unburden  myself  to  you." 


ECHOES   OF   THE  PAST.  249 

"  When  and  to  whom  were  you  married  ?"  his  father 
asked. 

"  On  the  21st  of  June  of  last  year,  to  Miss  Ilian  Mor- 
dine,"  Adrien  replied. 

"  Then  she  left  you.  What  was  the  cause  ?"  the  professor 
asked. 

"  You,  my  worthy  father,  were  the  cause  assigned,"  said  he. 

"  I  ?"  exclaimed  the  professor,  in  astonishment.  "  I  never 
met  the  young  lady." 

"I  know  that,"  said  his  son;  "  but  you  met  her  mother, 
and,  I  believe,  her  aunt  also." 

"  There  must  be  some  terrible  mistake,"  the  professor  an- 
swered. "  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever  met  Mrs.  Verdere 
or  Mrs.  Mordine.  I  am  sure  I  did  not.  What  was  her 
maiden  name?" 

"  Perhaps  you  can  tell  that,"  suggested  Adrien. 

The  professor  grasped  the  arm  of  his  son,  and  his  face  be- 
came an  ashen  color.     With  a  hollow  voice  he  said, — 

"  Adrien,  I  command  you  by  all  the  respect  due  to  me  as 
your  father,  tell  me  if  you  are  keeping  back  any  knowledge 
you  may  have  obtained  of  my  past  life." 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  Adrien  declared.  "  I  am  in  the  dark  ;  and 
you  alone  can  give  me  light  upon  the  subject." 

"  Why  did  your  wife  marry  you  if  she  knew  of  anything  to 
prevent  your  living  together  ?  Why  wait  until  you  were 
married  ?" 

*'  She  had  sworn  to  marry  me  when  the  war  was  ended, 
and  she  fulfilled  her  pledge  ;  but  she  was  bound  by  a  previous 
obligation  which  her  aunt  had  made  her  take  of  perpetual 
hatred  to  you  and  your  family.  This  oath  was  recalled  by 
her  on  her  dying  bed ;  still,  Ilian  had  doubts  whether  her 
aunt  had  power  to  release  her  from  this  '  Hannibal  oath,'  as 
it  was  termed." 

"How  long  did  you  live  together  as  man  and  wife?"  the 
father  asked. 

"  We  were  married  at  noon,"  said  Adrien,  "  and  in  the 
evening  I  went  to  the  railroad  station  to  see  Dr.  Rechard  set 
out  for  New  Orleans.  On  my  return  to  the  hotel  I  found 
my  wife  gone,  leaving  a  short  letter,  which  was  followed 
by  another  from  New  York,  saying  that  she  had  made 
an  unexpected  discovery  of  some  papers  of  her  aunt's,  dis- 


250  ILIAN. 

closing  certain  facts,  and  it  was  imperative  that  we  should  not 
meet  again.     The  following  day  she  sailed  for  Europe." 

"  Where  were  you  married  ?"  his  father  asked. 

'•  la  the  city  of  Cleveland,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bowman,  and 
after  the  ceremony  we  took  the  train  for  Erie,  at  which  place 
my  wife  left  me." 

"  Why  did  you  go  to  Cleveland  ?"  the  professor  demanded. 
"  You  came  by  steamer,  you  told  me,  from  Wilmington, 
where  you  were  set  free,  and  landed  in  New  York.  Why  did 
not  you  notify  me  of  your  arrival  ?" 

"  Because  my  movements  were  directed  by  others  who  had 
control  of  my  actions." 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  the  letters  that  Ilian,  your  wife, 
wrote  to  you?" 

"  Certainly.  They  are  in  my  trunk  at  my  room  ;  but," 
added  Adrien,  "  I  must  exact  a  promise  that  my  mother  know 
nothing  concerning  what  I  have  told  you." 

"  That  was  the  very  promise  I  was  going  to  exact  from 
you,"  said  his  father.  "  But  tell  me  what  was  the  tenor  of 
the  reason  assigned  by  your  wife  for  taking  the  '  Hannibal 
oath,'  as  you  term  it,  and  also  for  leaving  you,  her  husband, 
the  first  evening  of  your  marriage." 

"  Her  oath  was  exacted  on  the  ground  that  you  had  been 
the  means  of  her  mother's  death.  The  papers  which  she  dis- 
covered after  our  marriage  were  leaves  of  a  diary  written  in 
Boston  in  1841,  on  New-Year's-Day,  and  referred  to  your 
marriage  to  my  mother,  and  of  a  solemn  promise  which  you 
had  given  to  marry  another  woman." 

"Was  there  any  name  attached  to  these  notes?"'  the  pro- 
fessor inquired. 

"  Yes.  On  the  margin  of  one  of  the  pages,  written  in  red 
ink  or  in  blood,  was  a  woman's  name,"  said  Adrien. 

"  What  was  it?"  his  father  eagerly  asked. 

"  Helen  Claymuire." 

"  Was  this  Ilian's  mother  ?" 

"  That  matter  is  in  doubt.     You  alone  hold  the  clue." 

Adrien  was  frightened  at  the  effect  of  these  words  on  his 
father,  who  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground  if  he  had  not 
supported  him.  His  eyes  seemed  to  be  fixed  on  some  object, 
and  he  kept  exclaiming,  "  The  curse  !  the  curse  !  it  is  working. 
My  God  !  what  will  it  develop  ?" 


THE    VEIL  LIFTED.  251 

"  A  passing  cab  was  hailed,  and  the  two  reached  home  in 
a  few  minutes.  The  illness  of  the  professor  alarmed  his  wife, 
■who  sent  for  a  physician.  On  his  arrival  he  declared  the 
case  to  be  premonitory  symptoms  of  apoplexy,  and  advised  a 
change  of  air.  He  suggested  that  they  should  go  to  Marseilles, 
take  steamer  to  Naples,  and  there  spend  the  winter  months. 

The  following  day  the  professor  expressed  a  strong  desire 
to  leave  as  soon  as  possible,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  third 
day  they  set  out  for  Lyons,  where,  after  two  day's  rest,  they 
continued  their  journey  to  Marseilles.  Here  they  took  a 
steamer  to  Naples,  where  a  charming  villa  was  rented,  and 
Adrien  devoted  himself  to  the  restoration  of  his  father's  health. 
The  propensity  for  gambling  was  held  in  abeyance,  and 
he  spent  his  time  in  reading  books  to  his  father.  The  subject 
of  llian  was  avoided  by  both.  Sam  continued  his  studies, 
making  wonderful  progress.  He  expressed  a  desire  to  study 
medicine,  and  books  of  that  profession  were  procured  for  him. 
Six  mouths  were  thus  passed  pleasantly  and  quietly.  The  pro- 
fessor was  very  slow  in  recovering  from  the  shock.  He  had 
grown  ten  years  older  in  appearance  and  dreaded  to  be  left 
alone. 

The  curse  was  maturing.  How  much  of  it  had  been  ful- 
filled he  was  destined  soon  to  know. 


CHAPTER  YII. 

THE   VEIL   LIFTED. 


In  the  middle  of  May  the  professor  and  his  family  left 
Naples  and  went  to  Rome,  where  they  stayed  a  month.  Thence 
proceeded  to  Florence  and  Venice,  resting  four  weeks  in  each 
place.  After  that  they  went  to  Munich,  and  in  September 
they  came  to  the  beautiful  city  of  Vienna,  where  they  settled 
down  for  a  protracted  stay.  Adrien,  feeling  that  his  father 
no  longer  needed  the  close  attention  which  he  had  given  him 
for  the  past  ten  months,  sought  once  more  the  dangerous  pleas- 
ure of  the  gaming-table.  Sam,  who  now  spoke  German 
fluently,  attended  the  lectures  of  one  of  the  universities  and 
also  one  of  the  medical  colleges.     His  progress  was  something 


252  ILIAN. 

unprecedented.  His  memory  was  wonderfully  retentive,  and 
his  capacity  for  languages  and  scientific  studies  was  unequalled 
by  any  of  the  students  with  whom  he  associated.  His  skin 
had  actually  grown  lighter.  In  fact,  he  had  seventy-five  per 
cent,  of  white  blood  in  him,  and  had  been  matriculated  as  a 
Creole  from  New  Orleans. 

The  fame  of  Professor  Homerand  had  reached  Vienna  years 
before,  so  that  his  protege  was  well  received. 

Adrien,  was  now  left  to  his  own  resources,  and  during  their 
five  months'  stay  he  developed  into  a  confirmed  gambler.  He 
had  entire  charge  of  his  father's  finances.  The  checks  en 
Boston  were  signed  for  him  in  blank,  the  professor  never  for 
a  moment  suspecting  that  his  only  son  would  use  the  money 
for  any  but  legitimate  purposes.  His  losses  at  the  gaming- 
table were  very  heavy,  la  a  single  month  he  made  away  with 
fifty  thousand  dollars.  A  large  portion  of  his  father's  wealth 
had  been  invested  in  government  bonds,  left  with  his  banker 
in  Boston.  Thus  Adrien  had  funds  to  draw  on  without 
limitation.  He  was  his  father's  secretary,  and  all  the  pro- 
fessor's letters  passed  through  his  hands,  and  of  course  every- 
thing relating  to  the  fast  disappearing  fortune  was  sup- 
pressed. At  last  he  was  compelled  to  avail  himself  of 
Ilian's  offer  and  draw  all  the  money  which  she  had  placed  to 
his  credit.  In  a  short  time,  this,  too,  was  lost.  The  passion 
for  play  had  full  mastery  over  him. 

Sam  soon  became  aware  of  this  fact,  and  repeatedly  urged 
the  professor  to  go  to  some  other  city.  But  Mrs.  Homerand 
objected  to  roving  about,  and  as  Vienna  was  a  charming  place, 
she  easily  prevailed  upon  her  husband  to  stay.  In  February, 
however,  of  the  following  year  they  set  out  for  the  North, 
going  to  Prague  for  two  weeks  and  resting  at  Dresden  for  two 
months ;  and  from  that  city  they  went  to  Berlin,  where  Mrs. 
Homerand  proposed  to  make  a  long  stay.  Sam,  she  said, 
would  be  greatly  benefited  by  the  opportunity  of  studying 
there.  But  Sam  was  of  too  noble  a  character  to  benefit  him- 
self at  the  expense  of  Adrien.  He  had  noticed  that  when 
they  made  short  sojourns  in  each  place,  the  passion  for  gamb- 
ling did  not  manifest  itself.  It  was  only  when  the  novelty  of 
each  place  wore  off"  and  time  hung  heavy  that  he  plunged  into 
gambling.  At  times  he  won  largely,  but  in  the  end  he  lost 
all  his  gains  and  much  more  besides.     Sam  finally  disclosed 


THE    VEIL   LIFTED.  253 

these  facts  to  the  professor,  and  urged  that  one  month  should 
be  the  limit  of  their  stay  anywhere. 

Yet  neither  Sam  nor  the  professor  had  any  conception  of 
the  enormous  losses  sustained  by  Adrien.  Whenever  the 
subject  was  referred  to,  he  would  answer  that  the  amounts 
were  trivial  and  not  half  what  many  men  of  his  age  spent  for 
fast  horses.  His  final  argument  was  that  the  excitement  of 
the  gambling-table  made  him  forget  the  misery  of  the  past. 
This  silenced  his  father's  gentle  reproof.  The  subject  of 
Ilian's  letters  was  never  referred  to.  The  father  dreaded  to 
speak  again  upon  this  subject,  and  the  son,  despairing  of  any 
successful  result,  was  afraid  of  another  shock. 

Adrien  respected  Ilian's  wishes  and  did  not  seek  to  find 
her  hiding-place.  It  was  late  in  the  autumn  of  1868  when 
the  Homerand  party  again  reached  Paris,  and  they  were  once 
more  settled  in  their  former  quarters.  A  week  after  their 
arrival  Adrien  received  a  telegraphic  despatch  from  Berlin. 
There  was  no  address.     It  read  : 

Berlin,  November  20,  1868. 

Have  you  found  any  clue  ?  Send  me  word  through  my 
banker. 

Ilian. 

This  inquiry  aroused  all  Adrien's  latent  energy.  He  re- 
solved to  obtain  the  clue  for  which  she  asked.  The  oppor- 
tunity presented  itself  next  morning.  His  mother  had  gone 
out;  Sam  was  attending  his  lectures,  and  the  professor  was 
alone.  Adrien  showed  him  the  telegram,  and  asked  whether 
some  light  could  not  be  thrown  on  the  subject.  For  a  few 
minutes  the  professor  was  deadly  pale.     Finally  he  spoke, — 

"  Adrien,  my  son,  I  may  as  well  make  the  most  painful 
confession  now.  Under  the  circumstances  it  is  right  that  you 
should  know  all.  Will  you  let  me  see  the  two  letters  of  Ilian 
that  you  referred  to  over  a  year  ago  ?  The  one  she  wrote  on 
your  marriage  eve  and  the  one  two  days  afterwards." 

Both  letters  were  delivered  to  him,  and  he  read  them  slowly 
through,  but  there  was  no  expression  of  surprise  on  his  coun- 
tenance. When  he  had  finished,  he  folded  them  up  and  gave 
them  back  to  his  son.  Then  placing  his  head  between  his 
hands,  he  sat  without  moving  for  half  an  hour.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken  by  either.     At  last  he  looked  up.     It  seemed  to 

22 


254  ILIAN. 

the  waiting  son  as  though  his  father  had  grown  five  years 
older,  so  haggard  was  his  face.  Slowly  he  began  his  expla- 
nation : 

"  Adrien,  my  boy,  when  I  have  told  you  the  secrets  that 
have  been  buried  in  my  heart  for  over  twenty-seven  years,  I 
hope  that  you  will  not  esteem  your  father  any  the  less.  If  I 
have  sinned,  I  have  also  deeply  suffered.  I  trust  that  I  have 
made  full  expiation  for  my  crime." 

"  '  Crime,'  did  you  say,  father?"  cried  Adrien,  in  astonish- 
ment. "  My  noble,  gentle,  patient  father,  you  never  could  have 
harbored  crime  in  your  heart." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  damnable  crime,"  said  the  professor,  sorrow- 
fully. "  I  stole  from  a  confiding  woman  that  which  I  could 
never  repay,  and  I  refused  to  make  the  only  reparation  in  my 
power, — an  honorable  marriage.  I  have  written  out  the  full 
details  of  this  event,  and  you  will  find  them  in  the  tin  box  in 
which  my  private  papers  are  kept.  There  is  a  false  bottom 
to  the  box,  which  can  be  opened  by  inserting  the  thin  blade 
of  a  knife  on  the  edge  of  the  bottom  just  under  the  lock. 
You  will  there  discover  all  the  clues  I  can  give  you.  I  will 
merely  state  now  that  twenty-eight  years  ago  I  pledged  my 
sacred  word  of  honor  to  marry  a  beautiful  Southern  girl,  a 
Miss  Helen  Claymuire.  She  was  a  daughter  of  one  of  the 
oldest  South  Carolina  families,  and  one  of  the  loveliest  women 
that  I  ever  met.  Her  father  had  left  her  the  bulk  of  his  im- 
mense fortune  ;  the  remainder  being  the  share  of  a  younger 
sister,  a  frail  and  delicate  girl,  whom  I  never  met.  Our  mar- 
riage, it  had  been  agreed,  was  to  take  place  on  New-Year's- 
Day  in  18-41.  At  this  time  two  noted  cases  of  elopements  took 
place,  of  young  ladies  who  were  engaged  to  be  married  to 
others.  This  alarmed  me.  Helen  was  at  all  times  surrounded 
by  young  men  the  very  elite  of  Boston  society,  and  I  was  ap- 
prehensive that  I  might  lose  her.  I  determined  to  secure  her 
to  myself  by  a  most  contemptible  crime.  I  invited  her  to 
take  a  drive  to  a  secluded  piece  of  woods  on  elevated  ground 
overlooking  the  Atlantic.  I  called  it  '  a  little  picnic  for  two.' 
I  had  provided  myself  with  a  flask  of  what  I  told  her  was 
rare  old  wine.  I  assured  her  that  it  was  harmless,  and 
persuaded  her  to  drink.  While  she  was  under  its  influence 
I  was  enabled  to  accomplish  my  purpose.  That  cowardly  act 
has  brought  remorse  such  as  man  has  rarely  suffered.    At  the 


TRAITOR  AMONG   THE  FAITHFUL.  255 

same  time  I  gave  her  in  return  my  solemn  oath  to  marry  her 
within  a  month. 

"  I  was  then  a  professor  in  the  University,  and,  owing  to 
the  severe  illness  of  the  president,  there  was  a  prospect  that 
his  office  would  become  vacant.  Eagerly  did  I  aspire  for  the 
great  honor.  In  this  ambition  I  was  encouraged  by  Judge 
Rathmine,  your  late  grandfather,  the  chairman  of  the  board 
of  trustees.  I  frequently  visited  his  house  and  paid  marked 
attention  to  his  only  daughter,  Martha.  I  was  fascinated  with 
her,  but  I  could  not  say  I  loved  her.  My  heart  had  gone  out 
to  my  Helen,  and  I  fully  purposed  to  keep  my  oath  and  marry 
her.  At  this  point  I  found  myself  under  a  most  extraordi- 
nary conflict.  Two  mysterious  forces,  seemingly  external  to 
me,  were  at  war  within  me,  I  have  never  been  able  to  explain 
this  phenomena.  One  prompted  me  to  marry  Martha,  and 
thus  gain  the  coveted  president's  chair ;  the  other  urged  me 
to  fulfil  my  sacred  obligation  to  the  woman  to  whom  I  had 
solemnly  pledged  my  faith,  and  who  before  God  was  my  wife. 
The  former  force  was  finally  victorious.  I  engaged  myself 
to  your  mother.  I  then  met  Helen  Claymuire,  by  appoint- 
ment, under  the  shadow  of  the  old  South  Church  in  Wash- 
ington Street,  Boston.  She  learned  from  me  of  my  intended 
treachery.  She  then  pronounced  a  woful  curse  upon  me,  to 
begin  to  take  effect  from  the  day  I  wedded  her  rival.  Twenty- 
eight  years  have  since  passed  ;  I  believe  that  the  imprecation 
has  failed,  and  Helen  has  been  dead  for  many  years." 


CHAPTER   Yin. 

TRAITOR   AMONG   THE    FAITHFUL. 

Adrien  listened  to  this  recital  with  an  eager  countenance, 
and  then  asked,  in  a  voice  full  of  thrilling  interest, — 

"  Father,  did  Helen  Claymuire  have  a  child,  and  may  not 
Ilianbe  that  child?" 

"  No,"  the  professor  answered  ;  "  I  received  indubitable  evi- 
dence that  after  my  marriage  she  went  abroad,  and  that  her 
child  died  within  three  hours  after  its  birth.     A  year  after  she 


256  ILIAN. 

married  a  Mr.  Mordine,  an  English  gentleman,  who  was  killed 
by  a  fall  from  his  horse  in  a  fox-chase  a  few  months  after. 
His  wife  died  in  giving  birth  to  llian,  who  was  brought  up  by 
her  aunt,  who  had  married  a  Mr.  Verdere,  also  English,  and 
who  had  died  of  some  kind  of  fever." 

"  I  was  afraid,  father,"  said  Adrien,  "  after  what  you  told 
me,  and  the  notes  of  her  mother's  diary,  that  llian  might  be 
my  half-sister." 

"  Rest  assured  on  that  point,"  the  professor  replied  ;  "  Ilian's 
mother  died,  I  fully  believe,  from  a  broken  heart.  Her  system 
had  run  down,  and  her  vital  forces  could  hold  out  no  longer." 

"  Why  was  Mrs.  Verdere  so  bitter  in  her  hostility  to  you,  and 
what  was  the  reason  of  making  llian  take  that  terrible  oath  ?" 

"  The  Claymuire  stock  has  some  Spanish  blood  in  its  line- 
age, and  they  are  very  vindictive  in  their  hatred." 

"  What  was  the  substance  of  the  curse  pronounced  upon 
you  ?'  Adrien  asked. 

"  It  was  only  the  imprecation  of  a  woman's  rage,  jealous  and 
wronged.  She  predicted  the  curse  of  heaven  upon  me  in  my 
married  relation.  My  wife,  she  declared,  was  to  die  of  a  broken 
heart.  My  daughters,  if  we  had  any,  were  to  be  cast  upon 
the  streets  of  Boston,  the  public  scorn  ;  but,  as  I  have  had 
none,  that  part  is  certainly  void.  She  also  predicted  that  if  I 
had  a  son,  he  would  become  a  traitor  to  his  country,  that  he 
would  rob  his  father  and  would  raise  his  heel  against  me,  and 
finally  would  die  far  out  at  sea  and  be  buried  in  the  depths  of 
the  ocean.  Now,  Adrien,  do  not  utter  a  word  of  this  to  your 
mother.     The  curse  has  failed,  and  thank  God  for  it  !" 

"  Father,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this  before  ?"  de- 
manded Adrien  ;  "  the  curse  has  not  failed." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  professor  asked ;  "what  rela- 
tion has  this  curse  to  you  ?" 

"  The  first  part  of  the  curse  relating  to  me  has  been  ful- 
filled," said  Adrien.  "  I  am  a  traitor  to  the  flag  which  I 
swore  to  defend." 

He  then  related  in  detail  the  story  of  his  illness,  the  compul- 
sion which  had  been  placed  upon  him,  his  service  in  the  Con- 
federate army,  and  finally  the  capture  at  Fort  Fisher,  and  his 
subsequent  career  up  to  the  hour  of  his  return  home.  When 
he  finished,  his  father,  pale  and  trembling,  arose  and  put  his 
arm  around  him,  exclaiming, — 


TRAITOR  AMONG   THE  FAITHFUL.  257 

"  Adrien,  you  have  indeed  suffered  for  your  father's  crime. 
I  do  not  condemn  you  ;  but  your  mother  must  be  kept  in  igno- 
rance of  all  this." 

At  this  point  the  door  of  their  salon,  which  had  been 
slightly  ajar,  was  thrown  open.  Mrs.  Homerand  walked  in 
with  a  deep  glow  of  scorn  and  indignation  upon  her  face. 
Turning  to  her  husband,  she  said, — 

"  Homer,  I  did  not  intend  to  play  the  eavesdropper,  but  I 
heard  the  first  part  of  your  confession  and  was  obliged  to  listen 
to  the  rest.  I  now  learn,  after  an  interval  of  nearly  twenty- 
eight  years,  that  while  your  heart  was  given  to  another,  you 
married  me  as  a  step  to  your  ambition.  Bitter  as  is  this  cup, 
I  can  drink  it ;  but  to  think  that  my  son,  whom  I  have  idol- 
ized, should  stand  as  an  acknowledged  traitor  to  his  country, 
his  State,  and  his  God,  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  Adrien,  I 
believed  you  to  be  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  children  of  men, 
and  I  was  proud  to  have  been  your  mother.  During  the  late 
war  I  looked  upon  you  as  being  faithful  among  the  traitors  ; 
now  I  learn  that  you  were  a  traitor  among  the  faithful,  and  I 
curse  the  hour  in  which  I  gave  birth  to  such  a  son.  You  have 
brought  a  stain  upon  the  Rathmine  blood  that  never  can  be 
erased.     Leave  me,  and  never  let  me  see  your  face  again." 

"  Mother,"  the  young  man  pleaded  in  his  anguish,  "  you  use 
cruel  language.  I  had  been  ill  from  yellow-fever,  and  in  that 
enfeebled  condition  was  not  master  of  my  will.  A  dagger  was 
pressed  against  my  throat,  and  if  I  had  not  taken  the  oath  re- 
quired I  would  have  been  slain  on  the  instant." 

"  Better  such  a  death  a  thousand  times,"  she  cried,  in  strong 
excitement,  "  than  to  live  an  exile  and  a  fugitive  from  the 
avenging  arm  of  the  country  you  thus  deserted  in  the  hour  of 
her  sorest  need.  I  would  rather  look  upon  your  dead  body 
slain  for  the  defence  of  our  country's  flag  than  behold  you,  as 
I  do  now,  with  the  stigma  of  a  traitor  upon  you.  Leave  me 
before  I  call  down  heaven's  curse  upon  you." 

With  one  look  of  anguish  towards  his  father  Adrien  left  the 
apartment. 

The  mother  had  taken  the  last  earthly  look  upon  the  face 
of  her  cherished  boy. 

Reader,  be  kind  and  gentle  to  her.  She  was  loyal  to  her 
country's  cause. 

r  '  22* 


258  ILIAN. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   WELCOME   MESSENGER. 

Ten  days  had  passed  since  the  terrible  scene  recorded  in 
the  last  chapter,  but  no  trace  could  be  found  of  Adrien. 

Sam  had  searched  every  well-known  gambling-saloon  in  the 
city,  aided  by  two  of  the  best  detectives.  None  of  his  friends 
had  seen  him.  The  river  was  dragged  in  case  he  might  have 
committed  suicide.  Sam  wrote  letters  to  friends  asking  for 
information  in  the  various  cities  which  they  had  visited.  The 
answers  all  had  the  same  tenor, — "  Not  seen." 

Mrs.  Homerand  had  taken  to  her  bed  the  day  after  Adrien 
left,  and  the  doctors  informed  her  husband  that  there  was  no 
hope  of  her  recovery.     Her  disease  baffled  their  skill. 

The  professor  had  argued  with  all  his  ability  in  favor  of 
their  boy.  He  pleaded  the  fact  of  Adrien's  English  birth  as 
being  some  mitigation  for  his  desertion.  The  young  man  had 
been  placed  in  mortal  terror  in  an  hour  when  his  mental 
powers  were  weak  from  fever,  and  therefore  he  was  not  master 
of  himself  If  he  had  been  in  full  health  he  would  have 
faced  death  manfully  rather  than  become  a  traitor.  Yet  hav- 
ing once  taken  the  learful  oath  required  of  him,  his  sense  of 
honor  perhaps  deterred  him  from  breaking  it.  Besides  this, 
he  had,  in  his  despair,  sought  death  more  than  once  in  the 
field  of  battle,  and  had  been  stricken  down  at  the  head  of  his 
men  at  Fort  Fisher. 

Sam,  finding  that  Adrien's  story  was  known,  gave  glowing 
accounts  of  his  bravery.  All  this  had  its  due  efi"ect  on  Mrs. 
Homerand.  When  the  first  outburst  of  excitement  had  spent 
its  force  the  mother's  love  prevailed.  She  now  longed  once 
more  to  see  her  boy  before  she  died,  and  begged  Sam  to  go  to 
London  and  then  to  Berlin  to  seek  him  in  person.  That  same 
evening  he  left  for  the  former  place,  and  on  the  morning  of 
the  twelfth  day  the  professor  received  a  letter  announcing  that 
his  son  had  been  seen  in  Berlin.  He  at  once  wired  to  Sam 
to  hasten  to  that  place. 

It  was  New-Year's-Day  and  the  twenty-eighth  anniversary 


THE    WELCOME  MESSENGER.  259 

of  their  marriage.  Mrs.  Homerand  was  sinking  fast,  and  the 
doctor  gave  his  judgment  that  she  might  live  till  sundown, 
but  not  longer.  Her  husband  was  by  her  side  with  his  hand 
in  hers.  He  was  vainly  seeking  to  ward  o£F  the  approach 
of  the  last  messenger,  that  he  knew  was  about  to  take  away 
from  him  the  woman  who  for  so  many  years  had  been  his 
partner,  who  had  nursed  and  cared  for  him,  and  had  loved  him 
with  all  a  New  England  woman's  devotion.  It  was  true  that 
when  he  gave  his  hand  to  her  he  had  given  her  only  the  ashes 
of  a  buried  love.  But  never  once  had  he  neglected  her  com- 
fort or  spoken  to  her  unkindly.  Her  departure  he  felt  would 
leave  a  terrible  blank  in  his  life.  For  twenty-eight  years  they 
had  never  been  separated  for  a  single  day.  They  had  shared 
each  other's  joy  and  sorrow,  and  in  that  memorable  period  of 
two  years,  when  they  mourned  the  loss  of  their  son,  buried,  as 
they  thought,  in  a  far-oif  Southern  grave,  their  tears  were 
shed  together.  Now  he  would  be  left  alone  in  his  old  age. 
He  could  not  return  to  his  home  and  kindred  lest  his  son's 
crime  should  be  made  known, — that  son  on  whom  he  had  hoped 
to  lean  when  the  years  should  hang  heavy  upon  him.  What 
comfort  had  he  in  Adrien  now,  with  the  passion  for  gambling 
absorbing  his  soul  ?  The  husband  and  wife  talked  calmly  of 
the  change  now  fast  approaching.  Both  were  Christians,  and 
trusted  that  it  would  not  be  long  till  they  would  be  again 
united,  when  there  would  be  no  heart-burning,  no  tears,  no 
sickness  or  sorrow.  Again  and  again  they  spoke  of  Adrien, 
wondering  whether  he  would  return  in  time. 

The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  western  part  of  the  city. 
The  day  had  been  beautiful.  Mrs.  Homerand  was  perfectly 
conscious  and  resigned  to  her  fate.  Not  a  murmur  escaped 
her  lips.  She  awaited  the  coming  moment  with  feelings  of 
joy,  and  without  fear  in  the  thought.  She  expected  to  meet 
her  father,  her  mother,  and  her  kindred.  In  a  few  moments 
more  all  would  be  over.  The  physician  had  just  arrived  to 
remain  till  the  end.  Two  of  her  friends  came  in  at  the  same 
time  ;  but  how  anxiously  she  listened  for  the  footsteps  of  her 
wayward  son. 

"  How  much  longer  can  I  live  ?"  she  inquired  feebly  of  the 
physician,  who  held  her  pulse. 

"  Hardly  twenty  minutes  more,"  was  his  reply. 

"  Time  enough  to  greet  my  boy  if  he  would  come." 


260  ILIAN. 

Hurried  footsteps  were  approaching  and  a  knock  was  heard 
at  the  door.  It  was  only  a  message  from  the  telegraph  office. 
The  professor  read  its  contents : 

Berlin,  January  1,  1869. 

A  New- Year's  greeting  to  you  and  my  mother.  I  am 
leaving  at  once  with  Sam,  and  due  in  Paris  early  the  day  after 
to-morrow.     Have  seen  Ilian.     Hope  mother  is  better. 

Adrien. 

''  Homer,"  said  the  dying  woman  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  my 
time  has  come,  and,  in  parting,  I  say  that  I  have  always  tried 
to  be  a  faithful  wife.  You  were  my  first  and  only  love.  We 
part  now  for  a  short  period,  and  I  will  be  the  first  to  greet  you 
when  you  are  called.  Give  Adrien  a  mother's  dying  blessing, 
and  tell  him  that  I  fully  forgive  all  the  past,  and  ask  him  to 
pardon  his  mother's  anger.  My  pride  was  deeply  wounded, 
and  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,  for  the  unkind  words  that  I  uttered. 
When  I  am  gone,  1  want  my  body  to  be  placed  in  our  family 
vault,  that  my  dust  may  rest  with  my  ancestors.  Send  Sam 
home  with  my  remains.  Do  not  leave  Adrien,  but  watch 
over  him.  Tell  him  that  the  gambling-hell  is  the  high-road  to 
ruin  and  ignominy.     Could  I  only  see  the  face  of  my  boy !" 

She  could  say  no  more.  An  expression  of  calm  resigna- 
tion came  over  her  countenance,  then  a  smile,  a  slight  strug- 
gle, and  the  weary  spirit  went  to  its  rest. 

We  leave  the  mourning  husband  alone  with  his  dead. 


CHAPTER  X. 

FOUND   AT    LAST. 


Adrien,  driven  from  his  mother's  presence,  went  to  his 
own  room  to  think  over  what  course  it  was  best  for  him  to 
take.  As  Ilian,  judging  from  her  telegram,  was  in  Berlin, 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  that  city.  He  hastily  packed 
up  his  clothing,  and  taking  a  cab,  drove  to  the  "  Gare  de  I'Est," 
arriving  just  in  time  for  the  express  train  to  Brussels.     Con- 


FOUND  AT  LAST.  261 

tinuing  his  journey,  he  arrived  in  Berlin  the  second  day  after. 
Within  two  hours  of  his  arrival  he  left  his  hotel,  to  find,  if 
possible,  the  woman  who  was  his  wife.  Going  first  to  the 
telegraph-office,  he  showed  the  message  which  he  had  received 
in  Paris,  and  asked  whether  they  knew  where  the  sender 
lived.  The  books  were  consulted,  and  they  found  only  the 
direction  that  all  telegrams  for  Miss  Mordine  were  to  be  sent 
to  her  banker.  Adrien  drove  at  once  to  the  place.  He  saw 
the  head  of  the  firm,  told  him  his  business,  and  asked  for  the 
required  information.  The  man  informed  him  that  Miss  Mor- 
dine had  been  very  much  annoyed  by  an  American,  a  colonel 
of  the  army,  who  was  always  asking  for  money,  and  had  left 
positive  instructions  not  to  give  her  address  to  any  one  with- 
out first  consulting  her.  This  they  would  be  glad  to  do  as 
soon  as  they  knew  themselves  where  she  was.  She  had  left 
the  city  the  previous  day,  and  they  did  not  know  whither 
she  had  gone.  They  had  been  directed  to  keep  her  mail- 
matter  till  further  orders. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  name  of  the  American  colonel  ?" 
Adrien  asked. 

"  I  heard  it,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  I  forget  it.  He  has 
been  in  our  office  several  times.  He  is  a  lightly-built  man, 
with  gray  hair  and  a  dissipated  look,  and  gets  very  angry  if 
he  is  not  addressed  by  the  title  of  '  colonel.'  " 

"  '  Colonel  Hortense,'  is  that  the  name  ?" 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  that  is  the  name,"  the  banker  answered.  "  Do 
you  know  him  ?" 

"  Slightly.     Is  he  in  Berlin  now?" 

"  Yes  ;  you  will  find  him  at  a  pension  in  a  small  street 
leading  from  the  Unter  den  Linden.  My  clerk  will  give  you 
the  number.  If  he  is  not  there,  you  will  find  him  in  one  of 
the  gambling-saloons.  They  can  tell  you  where  at  his  pen- 
sion.    May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  your  name  ?" 

"  Adrien  Homerand,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What!  the  son  of  the  great  American  professor?"  the 
banker  exclaimed.  "  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,  and  place 
myself  at  your  service." 

"  Many  thanks,"  replied  Adrien.  "  I  will  go  now  and  give 
notice  to  this  Colonel  Hortense  to  leave  the  city  at  once." 

"  That,  my  friend,  will  be  rather  a  difficult  task,"  said  the 
banker.     "  I  hope,  however,  that  you  may  succeed." 


262  ILIAN. 

Adrien  felt  that  he  was  on  a  close  trail  and  resolved  to  go 
to  the  post-office  ;  perhaps  they  could  tell  him  where  Ilian 
stayed  when  in  the  city.  First,  however,  he  must  dislodge  the 
hateful  colonel  who  was  pestering  his  wife  for  money.  He 
had  set  out  for  the  pension,  when  he  suddenly  recollected  that 
Colonel  Hortense  supposed  him  dead  and  buried  in  New 
Orleans,  and  that  he  might  prove  a  worse  blackmailer  than 
the  noted  Tom  JeflFords.  Other  tactics,  therefore,  must  be 
employed.  He  ordered  the  cab  to  drive  to  the  office  of  the 
chief  of  police,  with  whom  he  was  personally  acquainted.  He 
was  at  once  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  functionary  who 
was  the  dread  of  the  evil-doers  of  Berlin, — in  fact,  of  all 
Prussia.  He  told  the  chief  that  Colonel  Hortense  was  a 
dangerous  character,  a  blackmailer  and  a  plotter  of  treason, 
and  that  it  would  be  advisable  to  keep  a  lookout  upon  him. 
A  bell  which  was  on  the  table  sounded  a  clear  note,  and  a  few 
written  words  were  handed  to  an  official  who  responded  to  the 
call. 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  information,"  said  the  head  of  the 
police  department  as  Adrien  arose  to  take  his  leave.  Within 
five  hours  he  received  a  notice  to  the  effect  that  Colonel  Hor- 
tense had  been  arrested  and  conducted  to  the  frontier,  with  an 
intimation  that  he  would  be  imprisoned  with  hard  labor  if  he 
should  ever  return.  This  matter  having  been  settled,  Adrien 
resolved  to  await  the  return  of  Ilian.  The  next  day  he  went 
to  the  post-office  and  inquired  of  one  of  the  officials  if  they 
knew  where  an  American  lady,  a  Miss  Mordine,  and  her  maid, 
had  stopped  when  last  in  the  city.  He  surmised  that  she 
might  have  received  local  letters.  A  search  was  made  among 
the  records,  and  information  was  asked  of  the  carriers.  In  a 
few  minutes  word  was  brought  that  a  registered  package  had 
been  delivered  three  days  previous  to  a  lady  of  this  name  at 
the  Hotel  Victoria.  Adrien  went  at  once  to  the  place  desig- 
nated, and,  in  order  to  avoid  suspicions  as  to  his  motive  and 
perhaps  to  be  met  by  a  refusal  of  the  information  desired,  he 
stopped  at  a  stationery-shop  and  purchased  a  large  official 
envelope.  He  then  wrote  a  few  lines  upon  a  sheet  of  paper, 
enclosed  it,  and  directed  it  to  Miss  Ilian  Mordine,  sealed  it 
with  wax,  and  stamped  it  with  his  ring.  Returning  to  the 
hotel  he  saw  the  manager,  and,  taking  from  his  pocket  the 
long  envelope  prepared,  asked  if  the  lady  was  in.     He  was 


FOUND  AT  LAST.  263 

answered  that  slie  had  left  two  days  previous, — they  thought 
for  Dresden, — but  she  would  return  shortly,  as  she  left  most 
of  her  baggage  behind,  Adrien  then  remarked  that  he  was 
a  near  relative  of  the  lady  and  would  await  her  return,  and 
also  move  his  luggage  from  his  hotel  to  this  one.  A  large 
room  was  placed  at  his  disposal,  and  by  evening  he  was  in- 
stalled in  his  new  apartments.  He  now  felt  that  this  time  he 
would  surely  meet  his  long-parted  wife.  A  few  days  after 
Christmas  he  resolved  to  go  to  Dresden,  thinking  that  per- 
haps he  might  meet  her  there,  as  her  banker  would  inform 
her  that  he  was  in  Berlin  and  asking  for  her.  He  searched 
every  hotel  and  pension  in  Dresden  where  she  would  be  likely 
to  stop,  but  without  success.  On  New- Year's  morning  he 
took  his  ticket  by  an  early  train  for  a  return  to  Berlin.  He 
'^was  alone  in  his  compartment  and  settled  in  a  corner  for  a 
siesta.  Drawing  his  travelling-cap  well  over  his  face,  he  was 
soon  in  a  sound  slumber.  He  was  awakened  by  the  train 
stopping  at  some  station,  and  a  lady  closely  veiled  entered  the 
carriage,  followed  by  her  maid.  The  next  moment  the  train 
was  stf»rted.  The  lady  took  a  seat  on  the  same  side  by  the 
other  window,  and,  throwing  up  her  veil,  spoke  to  her  attend- 
ant in  English. 

"  We  are  due  in  Berlin  by  eleven  o'clock,  and  I  expect  a 
number  of  letters.  I  think  I  will  drive  to  my  banker's  before 
going  to  our  hotel.  I  hope  I  will  not  meet  that  plague  of 
my  life." 

Adrien  started.  The  voice  awoke  a  thousand  echoes  in  his 
breast.     Jumping  to  his  feet,  he  exclaimed, — 

"  Ilian,  have  we  met  at  last?" 

Most  women  under  such  circumstances  would  have  fainted 
or  screamed  out,  but  Ilian  always  had  her  nerves  under  per- 
fect control.  She  was  surprised  beyond  measure,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  For  a  moment  she  hesitated  ;  then  placing 
both  her  hands  in  her  husband's,  she  said, — 

"  Adrien,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  once  more.  Sit  by  my 
side." 

They  certainly  would  have  embraced  each  other  but  for  the 
presence  of  the  maid.  At  the  next  stopping-place  Ilian  sug- 
gested to  her  that  she  wished  to  have  some  private  talk  with  Mr. 
Homerand,  and  directed  her  to  go  into  the  next  compartment. 
The  long-separated  ones  were  left  alone  to  talk  over  the  past. 


264  ILIAN. 

"  Ilian,  my  own  dear  one,"  said  the  now  happy  husband, 
"  I  hope  you  did  not  refer  to  me  when  you  made  that  remark 
after  you  entered  this  carriage,  that  you  hoped  you  would  not 
meet  *  that  plague  of  your  life'  in  Berlin?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  said  ;  "  I  referred  to  Colonel  Hortense." 

"  Then  have  no  further  fear  about  him.  I  induced  the 
chief  of  police  to  order  him  out  of  the  country." 

"  Oh,  how  grateful  I  am  !"  said  she ;  "  I  will  have  peace 
now." 

The  time  was  spent  in  relating  to  each  other  all  that  had 
happened  in  the  last  four  years,  and  Adrien  told  her  in  detail 
of  the  confession  of  his  father  and  what  he  knew  of  her  birth, 
and  also  of  his  mother's  anger.  When  he  finished,  Ilian 
replied  that  that  part  of  the  story  that  referred  to  her  own 
birth  was  not  sufficient.  There  was  a  deeper  mystery,  and 
till  it  could  be  cleared  up  she  could  not,  would  not  dare, 
live  with  him  as  his  wife,  and  thus  call  down  upon  her  head 
a  mother's  terrible  curse.  Her  love  for  him,  she  repeated 
again  and  again,  had  not  abated  one  particle.  Now  that  they 
had  met  again,  she  was  willing  to  see  him  from  time  to  time, 
but  only  as  brother  and  sister. 

As  they  stepped  upon  the  platform  at  Berlin,  Sam  met 
them  there,  but  betrayed  none  of  the  amazement  which  he 
felt  at  seeing  his  master  and  mistress  once  more  together. 
Speaking  at  once  to  Adrien,  he  told  his  errand,  that  his 
mother  was  very  ill  and  wished  to  see  him  at  once.  A 
moment  must  not  be  lost.  The  train,  he  told  Adrien,  would 
leave  in  half  an  hour. 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  coming  on  that  particular 
train  ?"  inquired  Adrien. 

"  I  heard  that  you  had  gone  probably  to  Dresden,  and  I 
wrote  to  all  the  hotels,  and  this  morning  I  received  a  tele- 
gram from  the  hotel  that  you  had  left  and  were  due  here  at 
eleven." 

Adrien  was  very  anxious  to  wait  over  till  the  next  day,  but 
Sam  urged  that  if  he  wished  to  see  his  mother  alive  he  must 
set  out  at  once. 

Ilian  on  hearing  of  this  also  advised  him  to  go.  She 
promised  that  she  would  remain  in  Berlin  till  he  could  return. 
She  would  be  then  compelled  to  go  to  New  Orleans,  she  said, 
to  look  after  some  property.      Adrien  then  sent  the  despatch 


THE  MORTGAGE-BOND.  265 

to  his  father,  which  has  been  already  noticed,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  was  on  his  way  to  Paris. 

Ilian  remained  on  the  platform  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    MORTGAGE- BOND. 

The  morning  of  the  3d  of  January  was  cold  and  raw. 
The  falling  snow  was  covering  houses  and  trees  in  a  white 
mantle.  Adrien  had  telegraphed  to  his  father  from  Hanover 
and  from  Brussels  askim:  for  news  of  his  mother's  health,  but 
had  received  no  reply.  Thinking  that  the  answers  might  have 
missed  him  he  had  no  misgiving.  He  reached  Paris  at  six 
in  the  morning,  and,  taking  a  cab,  he  drove  with  Sam  to  his 
father's  apartments.  As  he  entered  he  beheld  candles  burning 
in  the  salon  and  two  attendants  there.  He  was  about  to  make 
inquiry  for  his  mother,  when  his  eyes  caught  a  long  black 
object,  which  he  had  not  at  first  perceived  in  the  obscurity ; 
upon  going  up  to  it  he  was  horror-stricken.  It  was  a  coffin  ; 
and  within  he  saw  the  pale  face  of  his  mother  with  her  hands 
across  her  breast.  He  had  not  thought  for  a  moment  of  any 
such  result  from  her  illness.  It  was  a  terrible  shock.  He 
was  so  overcome  that  he  sank  on  his  knees  by  the  side  of  the 
coffin  and  plaintively  called  upon  her  to  speak  to  him  again 
and  say  that  she  forgave  him.  Hardly  had  he  uttered  the 
words  before  a  voice,  sounding  more  like  one  from  the  dead 
than  from  a  living  person,  replied, — 

"  She  did  forgive  you,  Adrien,  and  left  you  her  blessing. 
Welcome  home  again." 

Adrien  looked  up  affrighted.  His  father  was  standing  in 
the  door  that  led  to  his  chamber.  The  professor's  face  was 
more  pallid  than  the  white  night-garment  which  he  wore. 
Adrien  was  in  doubt  for  a  moment  whether  it  was  really  his 
father  who  stood  there,  the  face  was  so  haggard  and  woe- 
begone. The  doubt  was  speedily  set  at  rest,  as  his  father  came 
to  him  and  embraced  him.  After  giving  the  particulars  of 
his  mother's  death,  the  professor  informed  his  son  that  the 
M  23 


266  ILIAN. 

body  was  to  be  taken  to  a  receiving-vault  that  day,  to  wait 
till  arrangements  could  be  made  to  send  it  home  to  Boston. 

On  the  following  day  Sam  took  charge  of  the  remains,  and 
left  for  New  York  by  the  way  of  Havre. 

Adrien  and  his  father  also  left  Paris  for  Berlin.  He  had 
both  written  and  telegraphed  to  Ilian  stating  when  he  was  due, 
but  said  nothing  about  the  professor.  When  they  arrived 
she  was  at  the  station.  After  greeting  Adrien  warmly,  and 
tendering  her  sympathy  for  his  mother's  death,  she  asked 
who  that  gray-haired  old  man  was  that  rode  in  the  same  com- 
partment.    "  He  looks  very  ill,"  she  remarked. 

"  That  is  my  father,  let  me  introduce  you." 

Before  she  was  aware  of  it  the  professor  had  taken  both 
her  hands.  Looking  for  a  moment  into  her  face,  he  exclaimed, 
as  if  to  himself, — 

"  Is  it  possible  that  the  dead  can  come  back  again?" 

He  placed  his  hand  on  his  heart,  as  though  to  repress  a 
sharp  pain,  and  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground,  if  he  had  not 
been  supported  by  the  strong  arm  of  his  son.  He  was  im- 
mediately placed  in  a  carriage  and  driven  to  the  same  hotel 
where  Ilian  was  staying.  If  she  had  been  aware  of  his  com- 
ing she  would  not  have  gone  to  the  station.  Having  seen 
him,  however,  all  her  womanly  sympathy  was  aroused.  She 
felt  a  strange  longing  to  embrace  him,  and  during  the  two 
days  in  which  he  was  confined  to  his  bed  she  was  almost  con- 
stantly at  his  side.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  get  up  she 
exhibited  both  profound  respect  and  filial  attention,  which 
completely  captivated  him. 

A  week  thus  passed.  Adrien  was  full  of  hope  that  his  wife 
would  overcome  her  mysterious  apprehension  and  consent  to 
live  with  him.  But  she  could  not  surmount  the  barrier. 
Regard  it  as  she  would,  she  could  obtain  no  assurance  that 
her  mother,  if  she  was  living,  or  even  her  aunt,  would  give  her 
their  approval  and  blessing. 

The  course  which  she  had  pursued  for  the  last  four  years 
was  the  only  one  that  gave  her  peace  of  mind.  True,  it  did 
not  afford  her  happiness.  How  could  it,  when  she  loved  her 
husband  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  nature  and  knew  that  he 
was  miserable  and  wretched  away  from  her?  The  world 
might  call  her  cold,  ungrateful,  and  cruel, — in  fact,  use  harsher 
adjectives, — but  so  long  as  her  conscience  approved  the  course 


THE  MORTGAGE-BOND.  267 

which  she  was  pursuing, — and  would  certainly  condemn  any 
other, — she  saw  no  way  for  her  but  to  leave  Adrien  and  his 
father  till  such  time  as  more  light  could  be  thrown  on  the 
mystery  of  her  life.  She  felt  an  assurance  that  there  would 
come  a  time  when  the  darkness  would  be  removed  that  over- 
shadowed their  lives. 

The  professor  declined  to  meddle  in  the  matter  in  any  way. 
To  do  so,  he  told  Adrien,  would  only  prejudice  his  case  and 
perhaps  prevent  any  possibilify  of  reconciliation.  The  dread 
of  her  mother's  curse,  he  declared,  would  wear  off  in  time. 
Although  he  had  himself  grievously  wronged  her  mother,  yet 
that  matter  had  been  partly  condoned  by  her  marriage  to  Mr. 
Mordine,  of  which  Ilian  was  the  fruit ;  consequently  she  had 
no  right  to  bind  her  daughter  to  an  oath  of  perpetual  hatred 
for  an  act  committed  nearly  a  generation  ago. 

Adrien  urged  this  fact  so  strongly  with  his  wife  that  finally 
she  agreed  to  give  the  subject  another  year's  trial.  She  prom- 
ised him  that  if  at  the  end  of  that  time  she  could  satisfy 
herself  on  these  points  she  would  return  to  him.  In  the 
mean  time,  however,  she  must  go  to  America,  where  she  was 
needed  to  make  a  transfer  of  some  real  estate.  Dr.  Rechard, 
she  informed  him,  had  written  and  cabled  for  her  to  come  at 
once,  as  otherwise  she  would  lose  a  valuable  sale  of  some  of 
her  unimproved  lands.  So  the  matter  was  settled.  Two  days 
after,  she  left  with  her  maid  for  London,  and  then  by  Cunard 
steamer  from  Liverpool.  She  was  now  homeward  bound  after 
having  been  away  almost  four  years. 

After  her  departure,  Berlin  was  extremely  monotonous  to 
both  Adrien  and  his  father.  They  left  on  the  following  day 
for  Vienna  by  the  way  of  Dresden  and  Frankfort,  remaining 
a  few  days  at  each  of  these  places.  If  either  of  them  could 
but  have  divined  the  fatal  results  from  this  visit  they  would 
have  gone  in  some  other  direction.  Adrien  had  made  a  solemn 
resolution  to  himself  not  to  enter  a  gambling-room  under  any 
circumstances.  The  best  part  of  his  father's  fortune  had 
been  thus  squandered.  The  government  bonds  in  the  bank 
at  Boston  had  been  drawn  on  by  loans  on  them  till  no  more 
advances  could  be  obtained,  and  the  lender  had  written  demand- 
ing payment  of  the  money.  The  professor  knew  nothing  of 
this,  but  would  probably  receive  the  information  from^  his 
brother  on  the  return  of  Sam. 


268  ILIAN. 

Adrien  dreaded  being  called  to  account ;  not  because  there 
would  be  any  hard  words  over  it.  This  he  could  have  faced. 
What  he  feared  most  was  the  loss  of  confidence  that  would 
follow.  His  father  had  left  the  entire  management  of 
everything  to  him,  and  the  grieved  lobk  in  that  kind  face, 
bowed  down  with  care  and  sorrow,  would  go  to  the  inmost 
recesses  of  his  soul !  How  could  this  be  avoided  ?  There 
was  but  one  way.  That  hundred  thousand  dollars  must  be 
procured  and  paid  into  the  bank  within  three  months,  or  the 
mortgage  on  the  bonds  would  be  foreclosed.  After  due  con- 
sideration he  matured  a  plan  that  would  tide  matters  over. 
He  resolved  to  make  a  partial  confession  to  his  father  and  ask 
him  to  sign  a  mortgage  on  their  mansion  and  a  block  of  houses 
in  Boston.  This,  he  knew,  would  be  no  easy  matter,  for  the 
professor  had  never  signed  a  mortgage  on  anything  in  his  life. 
Adrien  was  aware  that  he  would  have  to  use  a  little  deception, 
but  he  quieted  his  conscience  by  the  thought  that  he  was  his 
father's  sole  heir,  and  it  was  only  forestalling  what  would 
eventually  be  his  own.  The  true,  manly  course,  he  felt  vividly 
conscious,  would  have  been  to  make  a  frank  avowal  of  just 
how  matters  stood. 

The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  he  shrunk  from  the 
ordeal.  But  the  hellish  passion  for  gambling  had  undermined 
that  nice  sense  of  honor  which  had  previously  been  a  con- 
spicuous trait  of  his  nature.  He  prepared  the  mortgage. 
Then,  watching  his  opportunity,  he  sat  down  by  the  side  of 
the  gray-haired  old  man,  on  whose  face  was  an  intense  ex- 
pression of  love. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  in  a  moment,  or,  I  should  say,  an  hour, 
of  excitement  in  the  gambling-hell  at  Monte  Carlo  I  staked  a 
large  sum  of  your  money  and  lost.  I  borrowed  from  friends 
to  pay  it  back  to  your  estate,  and  have  never  been  able  to 
make  it  up,  and  I  have  worried  myself  sick  over  it." 

"  How  much  was  the  amount?"  the  professor  asked. 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Think  no  more  of  it,  my  son,"  said  his  father.  "  Fill  out 
a  check  for  the  amount  and  I  will  sign  it." 

"  But  you  have  no  such  amount  on  deposit." 

"  There  are  one  hundred  and  fifteen  thousand  dollars  in 
government  bonds  in  my  bank  in  Boston.  Draw  against  them 
for  the  sum  you  want." 


THE  MORTGAGE-BOND.  269 

For  a  moment  Adrien's  better  nature  prevailed.  He  was 
about  to  confess  that  he  had  long  since  drawn  on  them  for  the 
full  face  value.  But  he  was  in  the  toils  of  the  tempter  and 
had  no  power  to  turn  back. 

"  I  hate  to  disturb  that  investment,"  said  he.  "  The  bonds 
are  at  a  large  premium,  and  the  interest  in  gold  makes  them 
too  valuable  to  sell  any  portion  of  them.  A  mortgage  on 
those  houses  in  Beacon  Street  would  be  a  wiser  course." 

"  A  mortgage !"  exclaimed  the  professor.  "  Adrien,  I 
never  did  such  a  thing,  and  the  very  thought  of  it  is  hateful. 
I  cannot  do  it."  The  old  man  rose  from  his  chair  and  walked 
the  floor  in  his  excitement.  After  a  few  minutes  he  sat  down 
again,  saying,  "  Let  the  bonds  go.  We  can  buy  back  others 
of  equal  value." 

Adrien  did  not  reply,  but  going  to  the  window  looked  upon 
the  river  Danube,  which  flowed  past  their  home,  and  said,  ap- 
parently to  himself, — 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  would  have  been  better." 
"  Why,  certainly  it  would,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Sell  the  bonds  at  once  " 

"  Father,"  replied  his  treacherous  son,  "  I  was  pondering 
over  something  else." 

"  What  was  it  ?"  the  professor  eagerly  asked.  "  Any  new 
proposition  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  had  serious  thoughts  this  morning  of  throwing 
myself  in  that  river  and  there  ending  my  troubles.  I  was 
ashamed  to  make  this  confession  to  you  of  the  money  I  have 
lost.  I  knew  that  you  would  lose  all  confidence  in  me.  That 
I  now  fear  you  have  done;  you  decline  to  approve  my  prop- 
osition about  the  mortgage." 

"  Adrien  !  Adrien  !  how  can  you  coolly  talk  of  ending  your 
life  in  that  fashion  ?"  exclaimed  the  now  thoroughly  fright- 
ened father. 

"  Why  should  I  fear  death  ?"  was  the  cool  reply.  "  Have 
I  not  faced  him  on  the  field  of  battle  and  in  the  sick-chamber  ? 
And  not  only  that,  but  I  courted  his  shaft  in  order  that  I 
might  find  relief  in  the  grave." 

"  My  God  1  is  not  my  misery  ended  ?  My  dearest  boy,  you 
are  all  I  have  now  to  lean  upon  in  my  old  days.  Were  you 
to  die  I  would  crave  death  as  a  boon.  Make  out  the  mort- 
gage and  I  will  sign  it;  anything  you  may  wish  I  will  do." 

23- 


270  ILIAN. 

"  It  must  be  signed  before  the  American  consul  and  have 
his  seal  attached,"  said  Adrien. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  as  soon  as  you  are  ready.  Prepare  the 
paper." 

In  two  hours  they  were  in  the  consul's  office.  Adrien 
placed  a  piece  of  blotting-paper  over  part  of  the  mortgage- 
bond,  and  then  pointed  out  to  his  father  where  to  sign  his 
name.  The  instrument  was  then  fully  attested,  and  they  re- 
turned to  their  apartment. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  the  professor,  "that  the  agony  is  over, 
and  also  that  you  did  not  include  our  mansion  in  that  bond. 
Those  houses  in  Beacon  Street  are  worth  twice  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  You  will  have  no  trouble  in  getting  the  amount  you 
want." 

"  I  do  not  expect  any  difficulty,"  was  the  reply. 

Adrien  had  adroitly  kept  the  knowledge  from  his  confiding 
father  that  the  mortgage  just  executed  was  for  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand,  and  included  that  very  mansion  and  all  of 
their  real  estate.  The  blotting-paper  had  hid  this  from  his 
sight,  exposing  only  the  latter  part  of  the  words  "fifty  thou- 
sand." 

The  instrument  was  duly  sent  to  the  banker  in  Boston  by 
registered  mail,  and  Adrien  waited  for  results. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HOPE   DEFERRED. 


Is  it  lawful  to  do  evil  if  good  may  follow  from  it  ?  This  has 
been  a  question  asked  many  times  since  man  was  ushered  into 
the  world.  It  has  been  variously  answered.  Many,  having 
silenced  the  stern  voice  of  their  conscience,  are  anxious  for  an 
affirmative  answer  to  it  from  some  source  that  will  carry  weight 
and  conviction.  It  is  pleaded  by  some  that  if  evil  is  done 
without  any  good  results,  then  it  is  a  wrong  that  must  be 
brought  to  an  account ;  but  that  if,  on  the  other  hand,  good 
follows,  then  the  wrong-doing  is  pardoned. 

It  was  thus  that  Adrien  argued  the  point  with  himself.  He 


HOPE  DEFERRED.  271 

had  transmitted  the  mortgage-bond  to  his  banker,  in  whose 
favor  it  was  made  out,  with  instructions  to  obtain  the  loan, 
pay  off  the  claim  on  the  government  bonds,  and  place  the 
balance  to  his  father's  credit.  He  purposed  to  use  this  extra 
amount  in  some  judicious  speculation,  and  so  to  make  up,  if 
possible,  the  previous  losses,  and  take  off  the  mortgage.  His 
father,  he  confidently  hoped,  would  overlook  the  small  decep- 
tion which  he  had  practised  on  him  to  spare  his  feelings.  If 
this  plan,  so  nicely  made,  should  be  successful,  he  solaced  his 
conscience  that  the  evil  of  his  action  would  be  extenuated. 

In  the  mean  time,  it  would  be  necessary  to  keep  Sam  away 
from  his  father,  for  he  might  be  charged  with  disagreeable 
information  in  regard  to  what  had  been  done  with  the  finances. 
Sam  would  certainly  inform  the  professor  of  the  true  state 
of  the  facts.  The  professor  had  treated  him  like  a  son  and 
won  his  ardent  devotion.  He  did  not  forget  by  any  means 
all  that  he  owed  to  Adrien,  yet,  in  a  case  like  this,  there  was 
a  greater  debt  due  the  father.  A  letter  was  prepared  by 
Adrien  and  sent  to  meet  him  on  his  arrival  in  Liverpool,  in- 
structing him  to  go  to  Berlin  and  continue  his  studies  in 
medicine.  The  following  week  x\drien  persuaded  his  father 
to  leave  for  Palermo,  that  lovely  city  in  the  island  of  Sicily. 
They  went  by  the  way  of  Trieste,  taking  the  regular  mail- 
steamer  of  the  Austrian  Lloyd's  line.  The  climate  suited  them 
both,  and  they  'decided  to  remain  there  till  the  warm  weather 
should  set  in. 

Two  months  after  their  arrival  Adrien  received  a  letter  from 
the  banker  in  Boston.  The  mortgage  had  been  negotiated 
and  the  money  was  on  deposit,  but  a  week  before  it  came  the 
person  who  had  advanced  the  loan  at  call  on  the  bonds  de- 
manded immediate  payment,  and  the  collaterals  were  sold  to 
meet  this  claim,  and  the  remainder,  amounting  to  ten  thou- 
sand dollars,  was  also  to  their  credit  in  bank.  Adrien  wrote 
at  once  to  buy  bonds  of  equal  value  of  those  sold.  He  was 
informed,  however,  by  the  return  mail,  that  that  class  of  secu- 
rities had  risen  in  value,  and  that  it  would  now  require  eight 
thousand  dollars  additional.  This  was  a  contingency  which 
he  had  not  looked  for,  and  he  decided  to  let  the  matter  lie  over 
for  the  present,  or  till  such  time  as  he  could  hear  from  his 
wife  at  the  end  of  the  year,  the  time  appointed. 

In  July  the  Homerands  left  Palermo  by  steamer  for  Genoa, 


272  ILIAN.  < 

going  direct  to  Mount  St.  Gothard,  by  rail  by  way  of  Milan 
and  Como,  and  by  carriage  from  Goschenen  to  Andermatt. 
The  professor  was  anxious  to  visit  the  place,  and  proposed 
to  invite  Sam  to  join  them.  To  this  his  son  objected,  on 
the  ground  that  it  would  take  him  away  from  his  studies. 
From  Andermatt  they  went  over  one  of  the  passes  to  Inter- 
laken  and  Lucerne,  and  in  December  they  went  to  Geneva  to 
remain  for  the  winter. 

In  January  Adrien  received  the  long-expected  letter  from 

Ilian. 

New  York,  January  15,  1870. 

My  dearest  Adrien, — The  year  of  probation  ends  to-day, 
and  I  hasten  to  give  you  the  conclusion  at  which  I  have  been 
compelled  to  arrive.  I  use  this  term,  for,  strange  as  it  may 
sound  in  this  enlightened  age,  compulsion  has  been  used  by 
one  or  more  external  agents,  the  limit  of  whose  power  I  cannot 
define.  You  are  well  aware  that  there  is  no  affinity  in  my 
nature  to  the  spiritualistic  mania  that  has  taken  possession  of 
so  many  persons,  but  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  have  been 
not  only  urged  but  coerced  by  a  power  acting  on  my  will  and 
judgment,  which  leaves  me  free  on  all  other  matters,  but  is 
inflexible  in  restricting  me  in  my  relation  to  you,  and  this, 
too,  in  face  of  preponderating  influences  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, and  of  the  advice  of  all  our  friends  which  1  have  sought. 
In  the  first  place,  on  my  return  to  New  Orleans  I  laid  the 
whole  matter  before  Dr.  Rechard,  and  asked  him  to  weigh  the 
evidence  carefully  and  then  decide.  Twice  in  person  and  four 
times  by  letter  he  has  done  so  with  an  urgency  and  force  of 
logical  deduction  that  left  me  no  ground  to  stand  on  ;  the  whole 
being  summed  up  in  the  concise  advice  that  it  was  my  duty 
and  my  solemn  obligation  to  return  to  you,  my  husband.  I 
also  made  a  confidante  of  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Rendeem,  and  told 
her  the  whole  story  ;  her  counsel  was  the  same  as  that  given  by 
Dr.  Rechard.  Her  daughter,  Edith,  who  is  a  girl  of  great 
ability,  with  a  keen  insight  into  human  nature,  repeated  this 
morning  what  she  had  said  several  times  before  since  she  knew 
of  our  separation  and  its  cause,  that  I  should  not  wait  for  the 
mail  to  carry  my  resolve,  but  to  cable  to  you  that  I  am  coming 
at  once,  never  to  leave  you  while  life  lasts.  I  went  also  to 
my  lawyers  in  this  city,  two  of  the  ablest  men  in  their  profes- 
sion, one  of  them  having  been  a  judge  for  ten  years,  and 


HOPE  DEFERRED.  273 

asked  them  to  give  me  their  opinion.  After  hearing  all  the 
facts  in  the  case,  they  told  me  that  there  was  no  law  of  God 
or  man  that  would  sanction  our  separation,  unless  further  un- 
doubted evidence  should  be  forthcoming  which  would  justify 
the  contrary  course. 

With  all  this  unanimous  advice,  I  purposed  at  once  to  come 
back  to  you.  Immediately  I  was  conscious  of  being  in  com- 
bat with  a  force  stronger  than  any  argument  which  I  could 
bring  to  overcome  it.  This  has  made  me  so  miserable, 
wretched,  and  unhappy,  that  death  seemed  preferable  to  the 
continuing  of  the  unequal  contest,  and  I  only  found  relief 
when  I  decided  not  to  return  to  you.  Four  times  I  have  en- 
dured this  experience,  and  last  night  I  went  through  what  I 
hope  never  to  do  again.  In  view  of  all  this  I  now  write  to 
say  that  I  cannot  at  present  live  with  you  as  your  wife.  I  will 
write  to  you  and  hope  to  see  you  from  time  to  time.  Your  dear 
father  has  found  his  way  into  my  heart,  and  I  long  to  feel 
myself  folded  in  his  arms  and  call  him  what  I  have  never  yet 
been  permitted  to  do  to  any  man, — "  my  father."  How  that 
word  awakens  strange  emotions  in  my  breast !  I  enclose  you 
a  draft  for  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  will  sendj^ou  this  amount 
every  year  in  half-yearly  payments.  If  you  are  ill  at  any 
time  I  will  go  to  the  very  extreme  of  the  world  to  nurse  and 
care  for  you.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  return  to  Europe  before 
long,  and  we  can  often  talk  of  the  days  that  are  past  and 
gone. 

Believe  me  your  loving 

Ilian. 

This  letter  was  also  carefully  perused  by  the  professor.  He 
told  his  son  that  he  now  had  more  hopes  of  a  reunion,  from 
the  tenor  of  this  document,  than  ever  before. 

"  She  has  consented  to  write  to  you,"  he  said,  "  and  to  see 
you.  That  is  half  the  battle.  I  can  understand  her  expe- 
rience with  the  external  force  to  which  she  refers,  for  I  have 
felt  it  myself  Take  courage,  Adrien  ;  and  before  long  I  hope 
to  be  able  to  greet  my  daughter  the  restored  wife  of  my  son." 

Adrien  did  not  take  siich  a  hopeful,  view.  If  his  wife  was 
really  under  the  dominion  of  one  or  more  of  these  mysterious 
influences,  he  believed  that  they  would  be  likely  to  retain  per- 
manently the  advantage  gained."     The  whole  affair  puzzled 


274  ILIAN. 

him,  especially  as  Ilian  was  a  woman  of  strong  nerve.  Wholly 
without  superstition  and  of  a  practical,  matter-of-fact  disposi- 
tion, she  was  about  the  last  person  that  he  knew  of  that  would 
be  deceived  by  any  spiritualistic  phantasm.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  her  aunt's  or  her  mother's  spirit  was  advising  her. 

If  so  in  her  case,  why  not  in  scores  of  others  who  are  left 
to  their  own  weak  judgment? 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    gambler's    CURSE. 

In  the  month  of  May  the  professor  and  his  son  left  Geneva 
again  for  Vienna.  Here  Adrien  felt  that  he  had  ample  scope 
for  speculation.  War-clouds  were  in  the  horizon.  France 
and  Prussia  were  then  preparing  to  appeal  to  the  arbitrament 
of  armed  legions.  The  professor  was  of  the  opinion  that  the 
latter  nation  was  best  prepared  for  war,  while  his  son  built 
his  hopes  on  the  French  standard  being  triumphant. 

This  was  the  long-looked-for  opportunity  to  retrieve  the 
losses  in  the  gambling-rooms.  A  large  portion  of  the  money 
on  deposit  in  the  bank  was  drawn  out,  his  father,  as  had  so 
long  been  his  practice,  signing  all  checks  in  blank.  Adrien 
speculated  wildly.  He  was  determined  not  only  to  get  back 
the  large  amount  lost,  but  he  felt  confident  that  a  fortune 
of  his  own  would  be  gained  besides.  Battle  after  battle  was 
fought  between  the  contending  armies.  Finally  came  the  de- 
cisive conflict  of  Sedan,  and  the  star  of  Napoleon  fell  on 
that  fatal  field,  carrying  with  it  millions  of  crushed  hopes  and 
thousands  of  lost  fortunes. 

After  the  crash  Adrien  found  that  not  only  the  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  dollars  that  had  been  obtained  on  the 
mortgage  were  lost,  but  that  he  was  compelled  to  use  the  draft 
of  ten  thousand  dollars  received  from  Ilian.  He  had  not  de- 
posited this  before,  and  he  was  very  reluctant  to  do  so  now. 
His  father  was  virtually  a  ruined  man,  and  the  truth  would 
soon  be  known.  Only  ten  thousand  dollars  remained  in  their 
bank.    He  drew  out  half  of  this  and,  breaking  a  solemn  reso- 


THE   GAMBLER'S   CURSE.  275 

lution,  plunged  into  gambling  once  more,  in  the  vain  hope  to 
win  enough  to  cover  his  deception.  The  five  thousand  dol- 
lars followed  the  rest.  Again  and  again  he  tried  his  fortune. 
Loss  followed  loss.  At  last  in  his  desperation  he  prepared  a 
second  mortgage  for  all  that  the  property  would  bear.  How 
to  get  his  father  to  sign  it  was  a  problem  that  perplexed  him. 
It  was  near  the  middle  of  November,  and  the  15th  was  his 
birthday.  His  father  would  be  just  in  the  humor  on  this 
occasion  ;  so  he  waited. 

The  professor  desired  to  have  a  few  friends  to  dinner.  This 
did  not  suit  the  purpose  of  his  son,  and  he  objected.  In  the 
forenoon  of  this  eventful  day  Adrien  went  to  the  office  of 
the  American  consul  to  prepare  for  the  official  attestation  of 
the  second  mortgage.  That  official  agreed  to  remain  in  his 
office  up  to  four  o'clock  for  this  purpose.  On  his  return 
home  he  found  his  father  waiting  for  him  to  join  in  the  mid- 
day meal.  Champagne  had  been  ordered  in  abundance,  the 
wily  son  hoping  to  induce  his  father  to  drink  enough  to 
muddle  his  brain  and  thus  obtain  the  coveted  signature.  The 
professor  was  one  of  those  men  who  when  liquor  is  forced 
upon  them  become  suspicious  of  some  design  in  view.  He 
at  once  began  to  suspect  that  his  son  had  some  project  on 
hand  that  would  not  bear  the  scrutiny  of  a  clear  brain. 
Adrien  had  never  tried  these  tactics  before,  and  was  not  aware 
that  his  easy  and  confiding  father  could  when  aroused  become 
obstinate,  and  especially  so  when  under  the  influence  of  strong 
wine. 

Before  the  meal  was  finished  a  letter  came  by  a  messenger. 
It  was  from  Ilian,  and  contained  a  draft  from  New  York  for 
five  thousand  dollars  for  a  birthday  present.  The  letter  had 
been  sent  to  the  correspondent  of  her  banker  to  be  delivered 
on  this  special  day.  When  both  had  read  it,  the  professor 
declared  that  she  was  one  woman  in  a  million,  and  that  this 
last  epistle,  while  short,  showed  that  she  was  gradually  coming 
nearer  to  the  point  of  a  happy  reunion. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  "  your  self-respect,  my  son,  will  not 
allow  you  to  use  this  money  in  any  way.     Keep  it  on  deposit." 

The  answer  to  this  was  evasive,  for  he  had  already  made  up 
his  mind  to  risk  it  that  day  at  roulette.  There  was  one  num- 
ber on  the  table  which  brought  a  return  of  thirty-five  times 
the  amount  risked.     If,  therefore,  he  placed  his  birthday  pres- 


27G  ILIAN. 

ent,  wliich  was  sure  to  be  a  lucky  one,  on  the  above  number, 
he  would,  if  successful,  receive  one  hundred  and  seventy-five 
thousand  dollars.  This,  with  thirty  thousand  which  he  hoped 
to  obtain  on  the  second  mortgage-bonds,  would  make  things 
all  right  with  their  banker  in  Boston. 

He  was  very  anxious  to  try  his  fortune  without  delay. 
Bringing  his  courage  to  the  stieking-point,  he  bluntly  told  his 
father  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  sign  a  second  mortgage 
on  the  Beacon  Street  property  for  thirty  thousand,  and  the 
papers  were  all  ready,  and  the  consul  was  waiting  to  put  on 
the  official  seal. 

"  A  second  mortgage !"  cried  out  the  now  excited  old  man. 
*'  Never  will  I  put  my  signature  to  another  mortgage-bond  as 
long  as  I  live !"  And  snatching  up  the  paper  which  his  son 
laid  on  the  table,  he  tore  it  up  and  threw  it  into  the  fire 
which  was  burning  in  the  grate.  "  Not  only  will  I  not  sign 
it,  but  I  will  this  very  day  write  to  my  banker  to  sell  fifty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  those  government  bonds  and  pay 
off  that  mortgage  I  gave  last  year.  What  under  heaven  do 
you  want  with  so  much  money?  I  hope  you  have  not  taken 
to  gambling  again  ?" 

"  I  want  the  money  to  use  on  the  bourse  to  save  funds 
already  invested." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  his  father,  "  I  will  examine  carefully 
what  you  have  invested  in  and  will  help  you  out;  but  I  must 
have  the  opinion  of  a  banking  firm  to  whom  I  have  letters  of 
introduction.  To-day  I  wish  you  to  spend  with  me.  It  is 
your  twenty-ninth  birthday.  A  few  of  our  friends  will  be 
here  this  evening.  You  said  you  did  not  wish  any  one  to 
dinner,  so  I  invited  them  for  the  evening." 

"  I  cannot  stay  now,"  answered  Adrien  ;  "  I  have  important 
business  that  must  be  attended  to  ;  besides,  you  have  in.sulted 
me  by  tearing  up  that  mortgage-bond,  which  cost  much  to 
prepare." 

'•  Adrien,"  said  the  professor,  "  the  insult  was  on  your  part, 
in  asking  me  to  do  what  you  know  is  so  hateful." 

"  But  you  did  it  once  before.     Why  not  again  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  admit  that ;  but  it  was  the  first  time,  and  it  shall 
be  the  last.     My  decision  is  final." 

Both  had  now  arisen  from  the  table  and  were  facing  each 
other  in  angry  defiance. 


THE   GAMBLER'S  CURSE.  277 

"  Adrien,"  said  the  professor,  "  as  your  father,  I  command 
you  not  to  leave  me  to-day.  I  certainly  have  some  rights  in 
this  matter  that  you  should  respect." 

"  I  will  return  later  in  the  evening,"  said  Adrien,  "  in  time 
to  meet  the  friends  whom  you  have  invited,  but  I  must  posi- 
tively go  now." 

"  My  son,"  said  the  professor,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  I  beg 
of  you  for  the  sake  of  your  mother's  memory  not  to  leave  me 
alone,  especially  to-day.     I  am  very  lonely." 

"  Do  not  urge  this  matter,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  tell  you  I 
must  go." 

'-  Adrien,"  the  father  entreated  plaintively,  "  I  beseech  you 
to  stay  with  your  poor  heart-broken  father.  I  dread  being 
alone  to-day." 

"  Why  to-day  of  all  others  ?"  was  the  savage  answer. 

"  Because  it  is  the  thirtieth  anniversary  of  that  fatal  night 
when  the  curse  was  pronounced." 

For  a  moment  the  son  hesitated.  Then  the  tempter  urged 
the  prospective  gaining  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  thou- 
sand dollars.  This  decided  him.  He  made  for  the  door  to  go 
out,  but  his  father  intercepted  the  movement  and  stood  before 
him  barring  the  way. 

"  My  son,"  said  he,  "  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  Twenty- 
nine  years  ago  to-day  you  came  into  the  world,  and  during  all 
this  period  I  have  watched  over  you  with  unremitting  care. 
When  I  heard  you  had  died  for  the  honor  of  your  country's 
flag,  I  felt  proud  of  your  war-record.  Bitterly  did  I  mourn 
your  sad  fate.  When  you  so  unexpectedly  came  back,  I 
offered  my  grateful  thanks  to  my  Creator  for  returning  you 
once  more  to  my  heart  and  home.  I  have  not  spared  money, 
either  on  your  education  or  your  comfort,  and  now  to-day, 
when  I  need  your  presence  more  than  any  other  period  of  my 
life,  you  refuse  to  stay  with  me.  Can  you  expect  God's  bless- 
ing when  you  act  as  you  do  ?" 

"  I  have  told  you,"  replied  Adrien,  coldly,  that  I  will  return 
this  evening.  Great  results  depend  now  upon  my  going  at 
this  hour ;  please  do  not  detain  me." 

"  You  are  going  to  some  gambling-hell  to  risk  that  five- 
thousand-dollar  draft  that  llian  sent  you.  Oh,  Adrien,  my 
son,  how  can  you  degrade  yourself  in  this  manner?" 

"  Who  said  that  I  was  going  to  a  gambling-saloon  ?" 
24 


278  ILIAN. 

"  I  read  it  in  your  face.  Your  eyes  are  blazing  with  ex- 
citement. Why  do  you  afl&liate  with  such  men  and  take  such 
needless  risk  ?  Surely  my  income  is  sufficient  for  all  your 
needs  ?" 

There  was  danger  that  this  appeal  might  win  the  young 
man  to  a  right  decision.  The  tempter  at  once  whispered  in 
his  ears,  "  He  who  hesitates  is  lost ;  think  of  a  hundred  and 
seventy-five  thousand,  that  will  be  yours  in  an  hour." 

Adrien  had  drunk  heavily  of  the  champagne,  and  its  fumes 
threw  a  cloud  over  his  judgment,  benumbed  his  conscience, 
and  overcame  the  filial  respect  that  was  even  then  struggling 
for  supremacy. 

"  Stand  away  from  that  door,  for  go  I  must,"  was  his  final 
rejoinder. 

"  If  you  are  determined  to  do  so,  you  must  step  over  my 
body,"  was  the  calm  reply  of  the  pale-faced  professor,  and  he 
lay  down  at  full  length  across  the  door-way,  his  white  hair 
resting  upon  the  tiles  with  which  the  hall  was  paved, — cold, 
indeed,  but  not  so  cold  as  the  heart  of  the  unnatural  son.  It 
was  a  sight  to  move  a  lost  angel  to  pity.  But  there  was  no 
such  emotion  then  in  Adrien's  soul.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  stepped  over  the  prostrate  form  of  his  father, 
saying, — 

'•  Curse  this  foolishness  !" 

The  old  man  raised  his  head  to  make  one  final  appeal,  when 
the  heel  of  his  departing  son  came  in  contact  with  his  left 
temple,  cutting  a  gash  from  which  the  blood  flowed  freely. 
The  next  moment  he  heard  the  hall-door  open  and  then  shut 
violently.  He  was  left  alone.  No  human  eye  had  witnessed 
this  awful  scene.  Taking  a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  he 
wiped  the  blood  from  his  face,  and  then  in  the  agony  of  his 
soul  he  went  down  on  his  knees  and  said, — 

"  0  God,  have  mercy !  Have  I  not  yet  paid  the  full 
penalty  of  my  crime?"  Thirty  years  have  I  suflfered,  and 
this,  the  crowning  act  of  my  son,  has  added  to  my  misery  a 
gambler's  curse." 

Professor  Homerand  then  carefully  washed  the  blood-stains 
from  his  face  and  person,  and  put  a  piece  of  plaster  over  the 
cut.  This  in  itself  was  slight,  but  a  small  vein  had  been  opened, 
which  accounted  for  the  great  flow  of  blood.  He  had  been 
in  a  dread  almost  equal  to  horror  of  being  left  alone  on  this  day. 


HARVEST  OF  THE    WHIRLWIND.  279 

To  his  surprise  there  was  no  feeliQ,£;  of  terror  as  he  sat  ia  his 
arm-chair  ia  the  gloaming,  and  gradually  fell  into  a  soft  sleep. 
Then  a  sweet,  soothing  halo  seemed  to  pervade  the  atmos- 
phere. He  beheld  the  lovely  face  of  Helen  Claymuire  and 
with  her  his  wife  Martha.  He  seemed  to  be  holding  a  recep- 
tion in  his  room.  His  many  friends  and  kindred  now  in  the 
world  of  the  departed  were  offering  their  congratulations,  but 
he  could  not  understand  for  what  purpose.  Turning  to  Helen, 
he  said,  softly, — 

"  Do  you  forgive  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  own  dear  Homer,  long  ago,"  was  the  reply ;  and 
the  brilliant  eyes  spoke  of  the  wealth  of  her  love  as  she  bent 
down  and  kissed  him.     It  was  a  scene  of  the  olden  time. 


"He  thought  of  a  tender,  happy  day, 
Born  with  the  buds  of  May, 
When  never  a  thought  of  pain  or  care 
Troubled  the  fragrant  ambient  air." 

He  was  rudely  awakened  by  a  knock  at  his  door,  and  a 
servant  announced  callers.  In  a  short  time  his  salon  was 
filled  with  visitors  of  real  flesh  and  blood.  He  told  them  that 
his  son  had  been  called  out  on  some  important  business,  but 
he  expected  him  back  every  moment.  The  evening  was  one 
long  remembered  by  those  assembled  for  its  joy  and  pleasant- 
ness.    It  was  midnight  when  they  left,  but  Adrien  came  not. 


CHAPTER  Xiy. 

HARVEST   OF   THE   WHIRLWIND. 

When  Adrien  left  his  father  prostrate  on  the  floor  and 
went  out  into  the  cool  air,  his  excited  brain  calmed  down  and 
reflection  brought  remorse.  For  a  moment  he  stood  on  one 
of  the  corners  of  that  grand  avenue,  the  Konig  Strasse,  debat- 
ing what  course  to  pursue.  His  better  nature  prompted  him 
to  return  to  his  father,  ask  his  forgiveness,  and  take  a  solemn 


280  ILIAN. 

oath  never  to  enter  a  gambling- house  again.  Yes,  he  would 
confess  everything ;  he  knew  he  would  be  forgiven.  Then  he 
thought  of  all  that  he  had  wasted,  yet  with  care  and  economy 
and  judicious  management  what  remained  to  them  of  their 
fortune  would  yield  a  comfortable  living. 

"  Wait  till  you  have  won  the  hundred  and  seventy-five 
thousand,"  suggested  the  tempter,  "  then  go  back  and  all  will 
be  well, — a  few  minutes  will  be  suflBicient."  Before  he  was 
aware  of  it  he  had  moved,  unconsciously  and  almost  automati- 
cally, and  soon  was  in  a  room  on  one  of  the  side  streets.  In 
the  centre  was  a  large  roulette-table.  Gold  and  bank-notes 
were  piled  up  in  large  amounts.  For  ten  minutes  he  watched 
the  table.  Twice  he  saw  his  number  turn  thirty-five  times 
the  amount  put  down  ;  it  is  true,  the  stake  was  only  a  louis. 
Taking  the  draft  out,  he  endorsed  it,  and  placed  it  on  the 
number  indicated.  The  marker  flew  round  rapidly,  and  then 
losing  its  velocity,  it  slowed  up.  The  index-finger  was  wait- 
ing to  point  out  the  winning  figure.  Adrien  held  his  breath  : 
it  was  coming  to  his  stake. 

"  Won  !"  he  shouted  triumphantly. 

"  Lost,"  was  the  reply  of  the  croupier,  as  he  raked  in  the 
draft  and  all  other  money  on  the  table.  The  marker  had 
stopped  a  hair's-breadth  on  the  other  side  of  the  line  which 
divided  his  number  from  the  next. 

"  Mighty  near,  old  boy,"  said  one  of  his  friends,  as  he  slapped 
him  on  the  back. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  savage  answer ;  "  but  it  might  just  as  well 
have  been  a  mile  away." 

Adrien  was  now  in  the  current,  and  the  whirlpool  was 
ahead.  We  must  leave  him  to  his  fate  and  return  to  the 
waiting  father. 

The  professor  told  his  servant  that  he  would  wait  up 
for  his  son,  who  must  have  been  detained  on  some  impor- 
tant matter.  He  then  drew  his  chair  up  by  the  window, 
where  by  the  moonlight  he  could  see  any  one  coming  up  the 
street. 

My  readers  will  pardon  me  if  I  vary  the  description  of 
the  thoughts  that  filled  the  mind  of  the  old  professor  by  giving 
them  in  verse.  I  am  not  often  guilty  of  this,  but  my  excuse 
for  so  doing  is  that  the  witching  hour  of  midnight  finds  me 
hard  at  work  as  usual. 


HARVEST  OF  THE    WHIRLWIND.  281 

The  November  night  was  cold  and  still; 
The  father  sat  by  the  window-sill  ; 
His  thoughts  went  back  to  his  native  land, 
And  his  Boston  home,  so  stately  and  grand. 

It  is  just  thirty  years,  this  very  night, 
Since  he  stood  in  Luna's  flick'ring  light. 
Where  the  shadows  from  the  church,  so  old. 
Fell  on  Helen's  face  scornful  and  cold. 

With  words  inspired  she  told  him  then 
Of  the  fate  in  store  for  Adrien, 
Who  would  end  a  weary,  aimless  life 
Far  out  'midst  ocean's  angry  strife. 

Visions  of  storms  before  him  rise  ; 
The  waters  mount  to  the  darkened  skies  j 
He  beholds  a  ship  with  rending  sail, 
Rolling  and  pitching  in  a  heavy  gale. 

And  from  her  storm-beaten  weather  side. 
He  sees  a  shrouded  corse  swiftly  glide ; 
Down  it  plunges  in  the  waters  dark. 
And  there  follows  it  a  ravenous  shark. 

He  sees  the  face  of  the  dead  as  he  fell ; 
'Twas  that  of  his  boy  he  had  loved  so  well. 
He  wakes, — the  father  can  bear  no  more, — 
He  bows  his  knees  on  the  chamber-floor. 

There  in  the  lonely  midnight  hour, 
Bereft  of  all  his  strength  and  power, 
His  heart  went  up  in  earnest  prayer 
To  God  who  is  watching  everywhere. 

The  gray  dawn  of  the  moraing  found  the  anxious  father 
still  watching  and  waiting  for  the  footsteps  of  his  absent  son. 
When  he  heard  the  servants  moving  about  the  house  he  went 
to  bed.  At  ten  o'clock  he  arose,  and  found  that  he  had  con- 
tracted a  very  bad  cold  while  watching  by  the  open  window. 
He  went  out,  and  called  first  at  the  telegraph-office  and  sent  a 
telegram  to  Sam  to  come  on  to  Vienna  at  once,  and  then  sent 
a  cablegram  to  his  banker  in  Boston  asking  for  the  amount 
on  deposit ;  also,  the  value  of  the  bonds.  He  then  called  upon 
a  physician  who  was  a  very  intimate  friend  of  his.  The  doc- 
tor told  him  that  the  cold  had  settled  upon  his  lungs,  and  that 
it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  return  to  his  apartments  at 
once  and  go  to  bed.  In  a  few  days  he  would  be  all  right. 
The  doctor  also  promised  to  visit  him  in  the  afternoon. 

On  his  return,  the  professor  found  a  reply  from  Sam,  stating 
24* 


282  ILIAN, 

that  he  was  leaving  Berlin  and  would  be  due  next  morning. 
The  doctor,  when  he  called  later  on  iu  the  day,  found  his  patient 
very  much  worse  than  he  had  anticipated.  A  high  fever  had 
set  in,  and  there  was  some  danger  of  a  development  into  pneu- 
monia. A  professional  nurse  was  sent  for.  At  six  o'clock 
the  professor  received  an  answer  from  his  banker  stating  that 
his  account  was  overdrawn  and  interest  past  due  on  the  hun- 
dred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar  mortgage,  and  that  there  were 
no  bonds  on  deposit.  At  eight  o'clock  the  doctor  found  the 
professor  alarmingly  ill,  and  was  perplexed  at  the  rapid 
progress  of  the  malady.  He  noticed  also  that  the  face  of  the 
sick  man  was  haggard  and  bearing  an  expression  of  despair 
that  was  appalhng  to  look  upon.  He  immediately  called  in 
the  assistance  of  another  medical  man,  and  one  of  them  re- 
mained all  night. 

The  following  morning  Sam  arrived  and  was  amazed  at  the 
change  that  had  taken  place.  It  was  twenty-two  months 
since  he  had  last  seen  the  professor.  He  now  looked  twenty 
years  older,  and  his  face  bore  traces  of  great  suffering.  He 
plainly  foresaw  with  alarm  and  consternation  that  his  bene- 
factor and  instructor  was  about  to  die.  Sam  had  spent  two 
years  in  walking  the  hospitals,  and  while  at  Berlin  had  im- 
proved his  time  iu  the  study  of  medicine,  and  now  his  acute 
discernment  revealed  to  him  that  the  professor's  hours  were 
numbered.  The  physicians  in  attendance  corroborated  this 
when  they  called  early  iu  the  day.  They  told  their  patient 
frankly  that  his  illness  was  very  serious.  The  sick  man  re- 
ceived the  news  calmly  and  with  a  gleam  of  joy  upon  his 
countenance  that  was  noticed  by  all  in  the  room.  All  his 
anxiety  was  to  see  his  son  once  more,  and  he  besought  Sam 
to  try  and  find  him.  Sam  was  well  acquainted  with  his 
young  master's  haunts,  and  he  went  to  a  number  of  the 
gambling-places  where  he  was  likely  to  be  found.  In  one  of 
these,  although  he  did  not  know  it  at  the  time,  Adrien  was 
concealed.  There  were  two  large  rooms  for  gambling,  and  in 
the  inner  chamber  no  one  was  allowed  to  enter  except  he  was 
personally  known  to  the  proprietor.  Sam  having  been  recog- 
nized as  the  former  attendant  of  Mr.  Ilomerand,  the  falsehood 
was  told  him  that  the  gentleman  whom  he  was  seeking  had 
left  the  city  and  gone  to  Munich.  Accepting  this  statement, 
Sam  returned  to  the  dying  professor  and  reported  the  news. 


THE  EXPIATION.  283 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   EXPIATION. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  it  became  apparent  to  the 
medical  attendants  that  death  would  claim  their  patient  by 
noon. 

Many  friends  of  the  professor  had  called  to  see  him  and 
offer  their  sympathies,  and  all  wondered  where  the  son  could 
be  at  such  a  time.  The  professor  would  answer  that  "  Adrien 
had  been  called  away  on  urgent  business,  and,  not  expecting 
any  serious  illness  to  come  upon  his  father,  had  failed  to 
send  his  address,  and  would  no  doubt  be  back  in  time." 

An  hour  after  the  doctors  had  given  their  opinion  as  to  the 
fatal  ending  of  the  professor's  illness,  a  servant  announced 
that  his  son  had  returned  home  and  gone  to  his  chamber  to 
change  his  dust-covered  clothes,  and  that  he  would  come  to 
him  in  a  few  minutes.  Sam  hastened  to  the  room  to  have  a 
plain  talk.  If  he  had  been  surprised  at  the  professor's  appear- 
ance, he  was  much  more  so  at  that  of  the  son.  The  young 
man's  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  garments  torn,  one  side  of  his 
face  was  bruised  and  swollen,  and  he  looked  as  though  he  had 
been  in  a  fight  with  ruffians.  In  answer  to  his  inquiring 
questions,  Adrien  told  Sam  that  he  had  learned  of  his  com- 
ing into  the  gambling-house,  and  that  if  he  had  but  known 
it  at  the  time  it  would  have  saved  him  much  money.  This 
morning  he  had  accused  the  proprietor  of  the  place  of  having 
swindled  him,  and  the  servants  at  the  bouse  had  ejected  him 
with  violence. 

Sam  made  no  reply.  He  knew  full  well  that  life-long  re- 
morse would  follow  the  doings  of  the  past  few  days.  Adrien 
then  went  to  his  father's  room,  and  the  attendants  withdrew. 
For  a  few  moments  neither  said  a  word,  till  Adrien,  overcome 
with  remorse,  fell  on  his  knees,  and,  taking  his  father's  hand, 
said,  in  an  earnest  tone, — 

"  Father,  forgive  me.  I  have  been  the  means  of  your 
death.      But   for  me,  this  would  not  have  been.     I  did  not 


284  ILIAN. 

realize  what  I  was  doing  that  fatal  hour  three  nights  ago,  and 
I  have  been  in  a  delirium  of  frenzy  ever  since." 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  with  all  my  heart,"  was  the  professor's  re- 
ply ;  "  and  I  now  ask  from  you  a  last  request, — that  you 
will  give  me  your  solemn  word  of  honor  never  to  enter  a 
gambling-place  again." 

"  I  swear  it,"  was  the  answer,  "  by  all  my  hopes  of  heaven 
and  by  all  my  fear  of  hell." 

"  Now,  my  son,"  said  the  professor,  "  I  have  but  little  time 
to  be  with  you.  The  death-chill  is  upon  me.  I  know  that 
in  my  present  condition  you  will  keep  nothing  back.  Tell 
me  the  meaning  of  this  cablegram  received  from  my  banker 
in  Boston.     Did  you  sell  all  the  bonds  ?" 

"  They  were  sold  before  that  mortgage  arrived  to  pay  oif 
the  loan  on  them,"  said  Adrien. 

"  I  thought,"  said  his  father,  "  that  I  signed  a  mortgage 
for  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  No ;  it  was  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  That 
amount  lay  for  some  time  untouched,  till  I  drew  on  it  to 
speculate  with  on  the  bourse.  I  lost  it  and  all  of  the  money 
which  I  received  from  llian." 

"  Then,  my  son,"  said  the  professor,  "  you  have  made  your- 
self a  beggar.  Yesterday  I  made  my  will  in  favor  of  your 
uncle,  my  only  brother,  with  instructions  to  allow  you  enough 
to  pay  your  actual  expenses  till  the  mortgages  were  paid  off. 
I  supposed  that  the  fifty  thousand  was  the  amount.  Then  he 
was  to  pay  you  seventy-five  per  cent,  for  the  term  of  your 
life.  The  whole  of  my  fortune  was  then,  to  go  to  your  chil- 
dren if  you  left  any  ;  and  failing  of  heirs  he  was  to  inherit 
it.  As,  however,  the  bonds  have  been  sold,  and  there  is  such 
a  large  mortgage,  I  think  it  will  be  many  years  before  the 
estate  will  be  clear,  if  ever.  The  seal  of  the  American  con- 
sul has  been  duly  placed  upon  my  will,  and,  also,  he  has 
promised  to  obtain  the  necessary  papers  for  the  transfer  of  my 
body  to  Hamburg.  Sam  will  go  with  you,  and  take  a  steamer 
there  to  Liverpool  and  go  to  Boston  by  the  Cunard  line.  Give 
my  dying  love  to  llian.  I  have  confidence  that  she  will  re- 
turn to  you,  and  you  may  yet  be  happy  together." 

"  Father,  I  have  not  yet  told  you  all,"  cried  the  wretched 
young  man.  "  In  the  excitement  of  the  gambling-table,  yes- 
terday, 1  forged  your  name  to  a  draft  of  twenty-five  thousand 


THE  EXPIATION.  285 

dollars.  I  am  certain  that  I  was  swindled  out  of  the  whole 
amount,  but,  nevertheless,  they  hold  that  fatal  piece  of  paper." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  my  estate  will  stand  such  a  strain 
upon  it,  but  it  shall  be  paid  if  possible,"  said  the  dying  man, 
calmly. 

For  over  two  hours  Adrien  and  his  father  discoursed  about 
family  matters.  The  doctor  came  in  at  times  and  adminis- 
tered medicine.  Sam  was  waiting  in  another  room.  He  felt 
sure  that  the  end  would  come  not  later  than  one  o'clock. 

The  clock  had  just  struck  eleven  when  a  man  of  gentle- 
manly appearance,  accompanied  by  an  agent  of  the  police 
department,  entered  the  house  and  demanded  to  see  Professor 
Homerand.  On  being  told  that  he  was  on  his  death-bed,  they 
replied  "  that  they  must  have  an  interview  without  a 
moment's  delay."  There  was  no  alternative.  The  door  was 
opened,  and  they  entered  the  room  accompanied  by  Sam  and 
the  doctor.  The  civilian,  who  seemed  to  have  lost  all  human 
sympathy,  went  to  the  bedside,  and,  in  an  excited  voice, 
said, — 

"  My  dear  professor,  I  am  the  proprietor  of  the  house 
where  your  son  has  been  stopping  for  the  past  three  days. 
He  gave  me  a  draft  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  purport- 
ing to  have  been  signed  by  you.  I  cashed  this  at  once.  This 
morning  he  was  insolvent,  and  I  was  obliged  to  eject  him 
from  the  house,  and  he  said  that  this  draft  would  not  be  paid. 
Now,  unless  you  acknowledge  this  signature  and  put  your 
name  on  the  back  of  it  before  this  agent  of  police,  I  will  have 
your  son  arrested  for  forgery." 

The  draft  was  then  handed  to  the  dying  man,  who  looked 
at  it,  and  then  gave  an  agonized  look  at  his  son. 

"  Give  me  a  pen  and  ink  and  I  will  endorse  it,"  he  said  ; 
and,  sitting  up  in  bed,  Adrien  placed  his  arm  around  him  to 
support  him.  The  pen  was  placed  in  his  trembling  hand  and 
a  portfolio  on  his  lap. 

"  Then  you  acknowledge  the  signature  to  be  yours  ?"  inter- 
rogated the  gambling-hell  keeper. 

"  Is  not  the  name  mine?"  demanded  the  professor.  "  What 
more  do  you  need  ?" 

"  Your  signature  on  the  back  before  these  witnesses." 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  was  the  reply ;  and  putting  the  pen 
in  the  ink,  he  held  it  for  a  moment  as  though  seeking  for 


286  ILIAN. 

strength  for  this  final  act  of  his  life,  and  then  it  fell  from  his 
hands. 

"  Do  you  decline  to  sign?"  shouted  the  excited  gambler. 
"  If  you  do,  I  will  have  your  son  sent  to  prison  for  ten  years 
for  forgery." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  almost  dead  man  in  a  weak  voice. 
"  Where  shall  I  sign  ?     I  must  do  it  quickly." 

Grasping  the  pen  which  was  again  placed  in  his  hand,  he 
attempted  to  write  his  name  over  the  signature  which  Adrien 
had  forged.  But  the  hand  had  lost  its  power  and  only  unin- 
telligible marks  were  made,  closely  interwoven  with  the  origi- 
nal signature.  Throwing  the  pen  down,  he  said,  "  There,  you 
have  it.  I  hope  you  are  satisfied."  Then  turning  to  his 
faithful  protege^  he  said,-- 

"  Sam,  God  bless  you  in  your  life's  work.  Adrien,  my  son, 
farewell,  and  may  heaven's  blessing  rest  upon  you  !"  The 
next  moment  he  had  ceased  to  breathe. 

"  You  have  ruined  the  draft!"  yelled  the  enraged  gambler. 

"  Stop,"  said  the  agent  of  police.  "  We  are  in  the  presence 
of  the  dead.  We  must  leave  this  house."  And  he  forced 
him  to  depart. 

The  American  consul  came  into  the  room  at  this  crisis  of 
afi'airs.  Upon  hearing  the  matter  explained,  he  quietly  ad- 
vised Adrien  to  leave  Vienna  at  once, — in  fact,  within  the 
hour, — and  to  await  the  arrival  of  Sam  with  the  body  of  his 
father  at  Hamburg.  This  he  did,  and  was  soon  out  of  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  police. 

The  gambler  in  vain  asked  Sam  and  the  doctor  to  verify  as 
witnesses  that  the  professor  had  certified  that  the  signature  to 
the  draft  was  correct.  They  declined  to  do  this,  as  did  the 
police  agent,  who  was  ashamed  of  the  whole  business.  As  a 
consequence  the  draft  was  worthless.  The  signature  had  been 
purposely  spoiled  by  the  last  act  of  the  dying  man. 

On  the  following  evening  Sam  left  Vienna  with  the  remains. 
The  professor  had  kept  a  thousand  pounds  always  in  his  desk, 
in  English  bank-notes,  for  any  sudden  emergency,  which  en- 
abled Sam  to  pay  all  the  just  claims  against  him.  At  Ham- 
burg he  met  Adrien,  and  taking  a  steamer  to  Liverpool,  they 
transferred  the  body  at  once  to  a  Cunard  steamer  which  was 
to  sail  next  day  for  New  York.  The  following  morning 
Adrien  was  too   ill  to  leave  his  bed.     He  insisted  that  Sam 


THE  EXPIATION.  287 

should  go  on  with  the  body  and  he  would  follow  in  a  week  or 
so.  Sam  gave  him  two  hundred  pounds,  and  they  parted  ex- 
pecting to  meet  in  Boston.     But  they  never  met  again. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  steamer  at  New  York  Thomas  Hom- 
erand,  the  brother  of  the  late  professor,  took  charge  of  the 
remains,  and  they  were  laid  by  the  side  of  his  wife  in  the 
family  vault  near  Boston.  Sam  reluctantly  gave  a  full 
account  of  all  that  had  taken  place.  Mr.  Homerand  was  a 
lawyer  in  Hartford,  Connecticut,  and  one  of  the  keenest  of 
men  at  cross-questioning.  Sam  attempted  to  shield  Adrien 
as  much  as  possible,  but  the  whole  truth  came  out.  Mr. 
Homerand  at  once  wrote  a  brief  letter  to  his  nephew  stating 
that  he  had  himself  paid  off  all  the  mortgages,  and  he  would 
hold  them  as  collaterals  against  the  estate  of  the  professor. 
He  added  that  he  would  make  him  an  allowance  of  five  hun- 
dred a  year,  and  not  one  dollar  more.  He  advised  him 
further  not  to  return  to  America,  as  none  of  his  relatives  on 
his  father's  or  mother's  side  would  in  future  have  anything 
to  do  with  him. 

Adrien  was  thus  disowned.  He  was  now  an  exile  and 
utterly  without  hope. 


BOOK  V. 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE    CUNARD    STEAMSHIP. 

The  remarkable  events  and  episodes  in  this  book  and  the 
following  one  are  given  as  the  personal  experience  of  the 
author.  I  know  of  no  better  introduction  to  them  than  the 
following  letter. 

Philadelphia,  Jnne  — ,  187 — . 

My   dear  B., — T   sail  next  Wednesday  in  the   Cunard 

steamship for  Liverpool.     I  have  been  ill  for  some  time : 

I  am  suffering  from  wounds,  and  also  the  effects  of  both  the 
yellow-fever  and  typhoid,  contracted  during  the  late  war. 

Perhaps  you  think  that,  as  I  have  crossed  the  ocean  more 
than  a  dozen  times,  I  ought  to  be  satiated  with  European 
travel.  I  am  ;  but  I  am  going  over  now  for  the  benefit  of  my 
health.  I  am  not  certain  whether  it  is  destiny  or  impulse 
that  calls  me  over,  but  I  feel  prompted  to  go  by  this  particu- 
lar steamer ;  I  cannot  tell  why,  or  even  guess  at  it.  If  I  were 
a  believer  in  spiritualism,  I  would  declare  that  the  spirit  of 
some  dead  friend  was  urging  me  to  sail  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  do  not  take  any  stock  in 
spiritualistic  matters,  yet,  all  the  same,  I  am  leaving  two  weeks 
earlier  than  I  had  previously  contemplated.  I  am  sorry  that 
I  cannot  pay  you  the  promised  visit,  but  I  will  more  than 
make  up  for  it  on  my  return  in  autumn.  Kind  regards  to  all 
your  family.  Excuse  brevity,  as  the  weather  is  hot,  and  not 
only  so,  but  depressing,  and  Philadelphia  is  not  the  coolest 
place  in  summer. 

This  time  next  week  I  hope  to  be  far  out  on  the  deep,  blue 
sea,  outward  bound.     An  revoir. 

Yours  fraternally, 

Kane. 
288 


THE  CUNARD  STEAMSHIP.  289 

Wednesday  morning  found  me  hastening  over  to  Jersey 
City  with  no  other  encumbrance  than  my  umbrella.  My  lug- 
gage had  been  already  sent  forward.  I  took  the  plebeian 
horse-car  instead  of  the  patrician  carriage.  I  arrived  at  the 
Cunard  dock  in  ample  time.  It  never  pays  to  take  risks  of 
that  sort  in  reaching  an  ocean  steamer.  The  Cuuarders,  like 
time  and  tide,  "  wait  for  no  one."  Promptly  at  the  moment 
advertised  the  gang-plank  is  hauled  in.  On  this  occasion  the 
massive  steamship  was  blowing  off  clouds  of  steam,  and  acting 
like  a  spirited  war-horse  held  by  bit  and  bridle,  stamping  and 
chafing,  anxious  for  the  freedom  of  the  road. 

My  first  duty  was  to  see  my  trunks  placed  in  the  hold  and 
my  satchels  duly  consigned  to  my.  state-room.  When  this  had 
been  done,  my  time  was  at  the  disposal  of  the  friends  who 
might  come  to  see  me  off.  Lonely,  indeed,  must  be  the  person 
who  has  not  even  one  individual  to  say  the  parting  word  and 
wave  the  white  handkerchief  as  a  token  of  a  hoii  voyage. 

The  hawsers  that  had  bound  the  leviathan  to  her  dock  had 
all  been  removed  except  a  single  line  forward  and  one  aft. 
The  decks  were  crowded  with  the  outgoing  passengers  and 
their  friends.  Carriage  after  carriage  came  rapidly  with  foam- 
ing horses,  indicating  the  anxiety  of  the  occupants  lest  they 
should  be  too  late. 

The  throng  increased  so  much  that  there  was  hardly  room 
to  move  on  the  promenade-deck.  In  a  few  moments  the  clear, 
vibrating  tone  of  the  gong  gave  notice  that  the  hour  of  sepa- 
ration had  come, — father  from  son,  mother  from  daughter, 
husband  from  wife,  brother  from  sister,  friend  from  friend. 

The  decks  were  rapidly  cleared,  the  last  farewells  were 
spoken,  cheeks  were  still  wet  with  the  parting  tears,  again  and 
again  was  the  call  made,  "  All  ashore !"  then  came  the  loud 
command,  "  Haul  in  the  gang-plank  !"  from  a  brass-buttoned 
individual  with  gold  lace  on  his  sleeves.  His  gray  hair  indi- 
cated experience  in  seafaring  life.  Without  inauguration  or 
formality  he  had  assumed  the  governorship  of  what  in  a  few 
moments  was  to  be  a  floating  island  propelled  by  her  own  in- 
ternal force  across  the  mighty  ocean.  Many  then  realized  that 
they  had  placed  their  lives  and  belongings  in  the  care  and 
custody  of  a  stranger.  His  word  was  law,  his  power  supreme  ; 
and  from  his  command  there  was  no  appeal.  The  safety  of 
over  five  hundred  human  beings  was  centred  in  him.  If  he 
N         t  25 


290  ILIAN. 

should  be  fiiithful  and  watchful  in  the  navigation  of  the  ship, 
we  hoped  inside  of  ten  days  to  reach  our  destined  port ;  if  not, 
then  our  friends  would  perhaps  hear  of  us  no  more.  We  had 
faith,  yes,  abiding  faith,  in  the  Cunard  line,  that  for  nearly 
forty  years  ferried  many  thousands  across  what  was  called 
"  the  big  pond."  The  gang-plank  was  hauled  on  the  dock, 
the  forward  and  after  lines  let  go,  and  the  last  link  that  bound 
us  to  our  home  and  country  was  severed.  The  mighty  ship, 
like  a  giant  released  from  bondage,  glided  swiftly  into  the 
stream. 

I  stood  on  deck  and  watched  the  fluttering  of  the  handker- 
chiefs from  the  large  throng  assembled  on  the  end  of  the 
pier, — watched  till  they  becaipe  a  dim,  confused,  indistinguish- 
able mass.  I  watched  the  fast-receding  shores  of  New  York 
City,  and  turned  my  wistful  eyes  to  the  large  hill-slopes  on  the 
southern  end  of  Brooklyn,  with  its  many  marble  shafts  mark- 
ing the  sad  memories  of  by-gone  days.  Greenwood  Cemetery 
looked  beautiful  in  the  bright  June  morning.  My  heart  went 
out  in  tearful  remembrance  of  a  wife  and  two  little  ones  sleep- 
ing in  that  great  city  of  the  dead, — that  loving  wife  who,  if 
living,  would  have  been  at  my  side.  Soon  the  Narrows,  with 
its  obsolete  forts,  was  passed,  and  as  we  reached  Sandy  Hook 
the  ocean-breeze  swept  along  the  deck,  sending  a  delightful 
coolness  through  our  veins,  overpressed  as  we  had  been  by  the 
scorching  day  that  preceded  our  departure,  prognosticating  a 
hot  summer.  I  had  been  in  ill  health  for  several  months,  and 
longed  for  the  pure  sea-air  and  bracing  winds.  After  passing 
the  Highlands,  we  shaped  our  course  for  the  Irish  coast,  and 
the  roll  of  old  ocean  cradled  once  more  our  giant  craft. 

We  had  on  board  nearly  three  hundred  saloon  passengers  and 
about  one  hundred  steerage.  In  the  cabin  there  were  all  classes 
represented :  the  old  tourist  and  the  new,  business-men  and 
professional  ones,  clergymen  of  all  creeds  a  score  strong,  brides 
and  grooms,  old  men  and  young  men,  fair  daughters  of  Eve 
of  varied  ages.  It  was  easy  to  pick  out  the  veteran  tourists 
by  their  familiarity  with  all  things  pertaining  to  ship-life. 
The  novices  were  asking  que>-<tions,  looking  with  timid  glances, 
and  walking  cautiously  on  the  deck,  as  the  ship  had  perceptibly 
felt  the  motion  of  a  short  cross-sea. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  dwell  upon  the  characteristics  of 
my  fellow-passeugers  nor  of  the  general  events  of  our  voyage. 


RENDING   THE   VEIL.  291 

The  routine  is  about  the  same  on  all  transatlantic  steamships, 
and  may  be  compressed  in  the  three  terms  of  eating,  drinking, 
and  sleeping,  with  occasional  lounging  on  easy -chairs,  reading 
light  literature,  and  resting  both  mind  and  body.  An  ocean- 
trip  has  given  a  renewed  lease  of  life  to  many  a  man  broken 
down  through  overwork,  mental  as  well  as  physical.  This 
particular  passage  would  have  passed  unrecorded,  like  others 
that  had  preceded  and  have  followed,  but  for  an  episode  that 
happened  on  the  evening  of  our  third  day  out. 

1  said  in  the  letter  to  my  friend  B at  the  beginning 

of  this  chapter  that  it  was  destiny  or  impulse  that  took  me 
abroad.  Those  who  read  this  narrative  must  decide  for  them- 
selves, also  the  truth  of  the  theory  of  Professor  Oliver  Wen- 
dell Holmes,  "  that  this  carriage, — the  human  personality, — ■ 
which  is  supposed  to  convey  our  single  spirits  across  life's 
continent,  is  not  a  private  conveyance,  but  a  public  omnibus, 
liable  at  times  to  be  invaded  by  one  or  more  wandering  spirits, 
who  are  compelled  to  use  a  human  form  to  manifest  themselves." 
My  readers,  however,  need  not  be  alarmed  at  this,  for  fear 
that  I  am  springing  upon  them  some  spiritualistic  tale.  I  am 
too  matter-of-fiict  for  that.  Often  have  I  asked  myself  the 
question,  "  Was  it  one  of  the  departed  personages  of  this  story, 
interested  in  clearing  up  the  mysteries  that  hung  over  the 
curse  of  the  old  South  Church,  that  prompted  me  to  take  this 
particular  steamer  ?"  It  may  have  been  "  merely  a  coinci- 
dence,"— that  and  nothing  more.     At  all  events,  my  experience 


CHAPTER  11. 

RENDING   THE    VEIL. 


"The  great  ship  rolled  in  the  hollow  waves, 
And  the  hoarse  wind  shrieked  o'er  fathomless  graves; 
The  old  ship  leaped  in  the  heavy  gale 
With  straining  timbers  and  loud-rending  sail." 

I  WOULD  ask  my  readers  a  single  question :  Have  you 
ever  felt  a  presentiment  of  a  danger,  an  experience  in  which 
"  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before?"     If  so,  you  will 


292  ILIAN. 

understand  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that  on  the  raorning  of 
our  third  day  out  I  awoke  with  a  feeling  of  terrible  depression. 
I  can  hardly  find  language  to  express  what  I  mean.  It  grew 
on  me  as  the  day  went  by.     I  could  not  shake  it  off. 

Seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  found  me  in  the  almost  deserted 
saloon.  A  stiff  south-east  gale  was  blowing,  and,  with  a  cross- 
sea,  our  good  ship  was  rolling  and  plunging  in  a  manner  far 
from  comforting  to  unsophisticated  stomachs.  Most  of  my 
fellow-passengers  had  sought  the  refuge  of  their  state-rooms. 
Ever  and  anon  heavy  seas  struck  our  iron  sides  with  the  force 
of  battering-rams,  sending  torrents  over  our  decks.  Many 
passengers  in  their  narrow  berths  were  vowing  that  they 
would  remain  exiles  abroad  forever  sooner  than  endure  a 
repetition  of  the  agony  of  sea-sickness.  Some  strong-limbed 
men  unused  to  the  boisterous  playful  humor  of  old  Neptune 
had  found  it  convenient  and  comforting  to  remember  the  long- 
forgotten  prayers  of  childhood  ;  and  many  made  solemn  vows 
that  if  they  ever  got  their  feet  once  more  on  the  firm  ground, 
nothing  would  induce  them  to  tempt  Providence  again  by  a 
voyage  across  the  rough  Atlantic.  Every  thump  on  our 
bulwarks  by  the  briny  element  re-echoed  on  some  hitherto 
sleeping  conscience,  as  it  was  remembered  that  only  a  thin 
sheet  of  iron  separated  hundreds  of  living  beings  from  a  watery 
grave. 

I  had  a  book  in  my  hand  and  was  trying  to  read,  wonder- 
ing at  the  tenor  of  my  forebodings  and  the  import  of  them. 
Was  it  indigestion  or  some  outward  force  separate  and  distinct 
from  any  physical  element  in  my  nature  ?  I  was  suddenly 
aroused  from  my  revery  by  one  of  the  stewards.  The  captain, 
he  said,  wished  to  see  me  in  his  cabin.  I  had  spent  an 
hour  there  in  the  afternoon,  and  wondered  what  he  wanted 
with  me  at  this  hour  and  in  such  a  dismal  gale.  When  I 
reached  the  deck  I  found  the  darkness  so  great  that  I  could 
hardly  find  my  way  to  the  captain's  room.     The  wind  almost 

took  me  off  my  feet.     I  found  Captain with  his  hat  on 

and  coat  closely  buttoned  up,  like  a  faithful  watch-dog,  ready 
for  any  emergency.  He  told  me  in  a  few  words  that  the 
surgeon  had  just  informed  him  that  a  steerage  passenger,  who 
was  very  ill,  could  not  live  more  than  one  hour,  and  had  asked 
to  see  me. 

I  went  at  once  with  the  captain  to  a  state-room  in  the  for- 


RENDING    THE    VEIL.  293 

ward  part  of  the  ship.  As  we  entered,  the  lamp,  which  was 
burniug  dimly,  made  everything  obscure  in  the  room,  but  its 
focus  was  centred  upon  the  pale  face  of  a  man  about  thirty-five 
years  of  age.  The  broad  and  deep  forehead  indicated  great 
development  of  mental  faculties.  The  lips  were  thin,  the  jaw 
sharp  and  prominent,  giving  proof  of  firmness  of  will.  The 
whole  contour  was  that  of  a  well-bred  and  highly-educated 
man. 

The  quick  eye  of  Captain took  these  facts  in  at  one 

glance.  In  his  vast  experience  with  thousands-  of  passengers 
in  his  transatlantic  service  he  had  long  since  learned  to  pick 
out  the  pure  gem  from  the  counterfeit,  the  true-born  gentle- 
man from  the  vulgar  imitation.  He  took  the  hand  of  his 
dying  passenger,  and  in  a  few  well-chosen  words,  with  the 
manner  and  grace  worthy  of  Lord  Chesterfield,  expressed  his 
sympathy  and  the  offer  of  every  assistance  in  his  power.  The 
answer,  which  came  in  a  weak  but  clear  voice,  showed  that 
his  surmise  was  correct.  The, man  before  us  was  a  gentleman, 
and  one  highly  polished  in  the  schools  and  by  foreign  travel. 
He  not  only  had  a  diploma  from  some  university,  but  had  also 
graduated  from  the  higher  university  of  the  world. 

The  captain  turned  to  me,  saying,  "  I  now  leave  our  sick 
friend  in  your  care.  Call  on  me  at  once  if  you  need  further 
assistance." 

As  he  bowed  himself  out  and  closed  the  door  I  turned  to 
the  invalid.  The  presentiment  which  had  all  the  day  weighed 
me  down  now  became  oppressive  and  almost  unendurable. 
Something  in  the  face  before  me  stirred  up  the  memory  of 
former  years.  I  was  certain  that  I  had  seen  that  face  some- 
where ;  but  when  or  how  and  in  what  surroundings  I  could 
not  determine.  I  sat  down  by  his  side  and  took  his  hand.  As 
I  did  this  I  was  startled  by  the  echoes  awakened  in  my  mind 
by  his  voice,  as  he  said, — 

"  Chaplain,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you," 

No  doubt,  I  thought,  he  had  seen  my  name  on  the  passen- 
ger-list and  was  glad  to  see  a  clergyman  in  his  last  hours. 
Death  had  set  his  mark  so  plainly  upon  him  that  I  was 
anxious  to  inform  him  of  the  limited  number  of  minutes  he 
had  to  live,  but  debated  how  I  should  gently  break  the  news. 

He  read  my  thoughts,  and  smiled  as  he  answered  me, 
"  I  know  what  you  desire  to  tell  me,  but  the  surgeon  has 

25* 


294  I  LI  AN. 

already  intimated  to  rae  that  I  will  probably  pass  away  at  eight 
o'clock:.      What  time  is  it  now?" 

I  answered  that  six  bells  had  struck  as  I  left  the  saloon, 
and  it  was  now  about  ten  minutes  after. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  I  have  yet  fifty  minutes  of  life.  It  is 
enough  for  all  I  have  to  say." 

The  presentiment  was  now  overwhelming,  and  my  heart 
was  weighed  down  by  a  feeling  of  terror.  What  could  it 
mean  ? 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  remember  me,"  he  said.  "  Am  I  so 
changed  that  even  my  old  friend  Kane  fails  to  recollect  me?" 

I  looked  into  his  eyes  as  these  words  came  from  his  lips. 
My  memory  was  slowly  reviewing  the  pages  of  the  past. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  seen  your  face  somewhere  ;  but 
for  its  counterpart  I  must  search  among  the  dead  and  not 
among  the  living.  You  strongly  resemble  a  brother-officer  of 
mine  in  the  volunteer  navy,  one  whom  1  had  learned  to  love 
dearly.  He  was  a  noble,  generous,  high-spirited  man,  a  gradu- 
ate of  a  university,  and  an  only  son  of  one  of  the  professors  ; 
but  he  died  of  yellow-fever  in  1863,  and  was  buried  in  an  un- 
known grave.  With  my  own  hands  I  set  up  a  monument  to 
his  memory.  Well  do  I  remember  that  day.  I  had  just  re- 
covered from  an  attack  of  yellow-fever  myself,  but  was  anxious 
to  fulfil  a  vow  that  I  had  made  of  erecting  a  tablet  to  him.  It 
was  a  plain  board,  painted  white,  with  his  name  in  black 
letters.  I  took  it  on  my  back  one  dark  evening,  and  walked 
two  miles  to  a  cemetery,  and  placed  it  under  a  magnolia-tree. 
The  effort  made  me  very  ill  again  for  several  days,  as  I  was 
reduced  almost  to  skin  and  bones  from  the  ravages  of  the 
dreaded  fever.  Adrien  had  saved  my  life  one  night  in  New 
Orleans,  when  I  was  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  ruffians  at- 
tracted by  my  uniform.  I  stood  at  bay  against  a  fence  with 
my  revolver  in  my  hand,  resolved  to  sell  my  life  dearly. 
"  Death  to  the  Yankee  hound !"  they  shouted.  Just  in  the 
nick  of  time  a  man  of  imposing  figure  emerged  from  the  dark- 
ness. He  perceived  my  imminent  peril,  and,  taking  his  place 
beside  me,  said,  "  I  am  a  brother-officer,  and  will  stand  by  you 
for  all  I  am  worth."  With  well-directed  blows  he  levelled  three 
of  my  assailants,  and  the  others  took  to  flight  at  once.  There 
was  no  need,  however,  for  further  defence  ;  the  field  was  ours, 
and  we  walked  in  quietness  to  my  ship.     From  that  hour  we 


RENDING   THE    VEIL.  295 

became  warm  friends,  and  when  he  died  I  mourned  him  as  a 
brother." 

During  this  recital  the  eyes  of  the  sick  man  were  fixed  in- 
tently upon  me.  I  saw  that  they  were  filled  with  tears,  and 
his  pressure  upon  my  hand  was  tightened. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  this  friend  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Adrien  Homerand."  And  the  tears  filled  my  own  eyes 
as  the  sound  of  that  cherished  name  passed  my  lips. 

"  And  he  died  of  yellow-fever ;  are  you  sure  of  this?" 

"  Yes ;  his  death  was  duly  recorded  upon  the  Naval  Regis- 
ter. There  can  be  no  mistake.  He  is  dead,  for  he  was  never 
heard  of  afterwards, — buried  in  a  lonely,  unknown  Southern 
grave." 

The  stranger  raised  himself  in  his  bed,  and,  reaching  over 
to  my  face,  said  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  ring  with  a  dozen 
echoes, — 

"  Adrien  Homerand  did  not  die  of  yellow-fever.  It  was  a 
false  report,  issued  to  cover  a  damning  crime.  Adrien  joined 
the  rebel  army,  and  became  a  traitor  to  his  country,  his  God, 
and  his  State." 

"  It  is  false  !"  I  shouted.  "  Were  you  not  a  dying  man  I 
would  make  you  retract  this  foul  calumny.  I  would  make 
you  swallow  every  word.  What !  Adrien,  the  gifted  son  of 
Massachusetts,  the  pride  of  his  college,  and  the  beau  ideal  of 
a  naval  officer,  become  a  deserter,  a  traitor  ?  Never  !  You 
are  in  error,  and  some  false,  base  wretch  has  poisoned  your 
mind.     You  did  not  know  him." 

"No  one  knew  Adrien  better  than  I  did,"  was  the  reply  in 
a  calm,  deliberate  voice,  that  carried  conviction  in  its  tone. 
"  Adrien  was  not  only  a  traitor,  but  his  hand  was  stained 
with  the  blood  of  his  fellow-countrymen.  It  was  raised  in 
battle  to  strike  down  the  flag  that  he  had  sworn  to  defend. 
Yes,  Adrien  was  a  blood-stained  traitor. 

"  Who  are  you,"  I  asked,  rising  to  my  feet,  "  that  thus 
dares  to  breathe  such  a  teiTible  accusation  against  a  loyal  offi- 
cer of  the  Union  navy  ?" 

The  prostrate  man  before  me  was  not  visibly  disturbed  by 
my  angry  gesture ;  only  the  tears  again  came  to  his  eyes,  and 
his  mind  seemed  to  go  back  to  old,  forgotten  scenes. 

"  Who  am  I?"  he  replied  in  a  husky  tone.  "I  was  once 
Adrien   Homerand,  loyal  to  my  God,   my  country,  and  my 


296  ILIAN. 

friends.  Now  I  am  a  dying  man,  an  alien,  and  disowned  by 
all  those  who  once  loved  me.  Chaplain,  my  tried  and  true 
friend,  do  you  not  recognize  me  now?" 

I  leaned  against  the  bulkhead  of  the  state-room  for  sup- 
port, and  grew  as  faint  and  pale  as  the  dying  man  before  me. 
Alarmed  at  my  condition,  he  took,  a  glass  of  water  at  my  side 
and  said, — 

"  Drink  ;  this  will  revive  you." 

I  raised  it  to  my  lips,  drained  it  to  the  last  drop,  and 
again  sat  down.     It  contained  a  narcotic. 

"  I  have  taken  your  medicine,"  1  said  ;  "  why  did  you  give 
it  to  me  ?" 

"  No,  no ;  there  is  plenty  left,  and  I  will  need  it  no  more." 

The  bell  of  the  ship  struck  seven. 

"  Thirty  minutes  more  of  life,"  was  his  answer  as  the 
sound  of  the  bell  ceased.  "  Time  is  short,  and  I  must  be 
brief,"  he  continued.  "  I  feel  my  life-blood  growing  colder, 
and  I  have  something  important  to  communicate.  Before  you 
utterly  condemn  your  friend  Adrien,  read  these  notes."  And 
taking  a  package  from  under  his  head,  he  placed  it  in  my 
hand.  "  Here  is  an  order  for  a  box  of  family  papers  left  with 
Mrs.  Hardcash,  No. — , Street,  in  Cambridge,  Massa- 
chusetts. When  the  surgeon  told  me  this  afternoon  that  I 
was  seriously  ill,  I  wrote  this  order.  There  is  also  a  receipt 
from  Mrs.  Hardcash  for  payment  in  full  to  date,  and  an 
agreement  to  keep  the  box  referred  to  till  my  return.  I  ob- 
served your  name  among  the  list  of  passengers  the  first  day 
out,  and  recognized  you  at  once.  I  was  anxious  to  unburden 
myself  to  you,  but  dreaded  your  scorn  when  you  should  learn 
the  truth.  When  you  have  read  the  full  history  of  my  life 
you  will,  I  know,  throw  the  mantle  of  charity  over  my  past 
crime  and  forgive  your  friend.  I  met  you  once  since  we 
parted  the  last  time  at  that  reception  in  New  Orleans.  The 
belle  of  the  evening  over  whom  you  raved  and  spoke  of  as 
being  the  most  beautiful  woman  you  had  ever  seen  was  Ilian, 
as  you  are  aware.  Yes,  but  once  since  that  night  did  I  see 
you,  and  how  changed  were  the  circumstances  !  You-  remem- 
ber coming  into  the  casemate  of  Fort  Fisher  after  Admiral 
Porter  and  his  fleet  had  captured  the  place?" 
"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  I  was  among  the  wounded,  and  recognized  you  when 


RENDING   THE    VEIL.  297 

you  gave  a  glass  of  water  to  a  wounded  Southern  soldier,  and 
then  spoke  to  me,  offering  assistance.  I  was  afraid  that  you 
would  recognize  me.   I  have  put  the  incident  down  in  my  notes." 

"  Why  were  you  afraid  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  I  would  have  suffered  a  traitor's  death  if  you 
had  denounced  me." 

"  Did  you  think  that  I  would  do  so  ?" 

"Your  recognition  of  me  before  the  other  Union  oflBcers 
present  would  have  led  to  an  investigation,  and  the  result 
would  have  been  death  to  me.  Now  for  other  matters.  Hunt 
up  Ilian  in  Europe,  and  tell  her  of  my  untimely  death,  and 
that  I  send  her  this  ring  as  a  token  of  forgiveness." 

Adrien  took  from  his  finger  a  chased  ring  of  peculiar  de- 
sign and  placed  it  in  my  hand. 

"  Swear  to  me,"  he  continued,  "  that  you  will  never  reveal 
my  true  name  to  any  of  my  late  brother-officers  in  the  navy. 
Let  the  record  of  my  honorable  death  stand  upon  the  Navy 
Register.  Write  out  a  full  history  from  all  the  notes  I  have 
just  given  you  and  the  papers  you  will  obtain  in  Cambridge  ; 
keep  my  name  as  well  as  my  late  honored  father's  unstained 
on  the  annals  of  our  university.  Do  not  give  this  history  to 
the  world  till  after  the  death  of  Ilian.  I  have  a  presentiment 
that  she  will  follow  me  soon  to  the  other  sphere  ;  and  there, 
where  we  will  both  be  freed  from  the  limitations  of  this  life, 
we  can  enjoy  the  fulness  of  the  great  Creator's  blessings.  Do 
you  swear  to  keep  this  last  pledge  to  a  dying  man  ?" 

"  I  swear  !"  came  from  my  lips,  in  a  hollow  voice  that  I  did 
not  recognize  as  my  own. 

*'  Let  the  captain  divide  my  clothes  among  the  sailors,  and 
my  small  amount  of  money  you  can " 

'*  Hold  1"  I  interrupted  him.  "  Leave  your  money  to  the 
widows  and  orphans  of  Liverpool ;  I  have  enough." 

He  smiled  as  he  answered,  "  Alas,  it  is  only  a  few  dollars. 
My  large  fortune  left  to  me  by  my  grandfather  and  my  father 
also  has  been  squandered,  and  I  was  on  my  way  to  England 
to  find  Lian,  who  is  there  somewhere, — I  believe,  in  London. 
I  was  suffering  from  a  bad  cold,  and  it  has  developed  into  a 
fatal  case  of  pneumonia.  It  was  predicted  of  me  before  my- 
birth  that  I  would  come  to  my  end  in  a  storm  at  sea,  and  in 
the  morning  you  will  be  called  upon  to  consign  my  body  to  a 
deep-sea  grave." 


298  ILIAN, 

The  glass  of  water  that  Adrien  had  given  me  contained 
morphia.  I  felt  the  effect  of  the  powerful  drug.  My  right 
hand  was  firmly  clasped  in  that  of  my  departing  friend. 

For  a  moment  we  were  both  silent. 

Then  came  the  terrible  harbinger  of  dissolution,  the  death- 
rattle. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   EPISODE. 


I  LOOKED  at  my  watch.  It  was  fifteen  minutes  of  eight. 
Adrien's  voice  sounded  strangely  unnatural  as  he  said,  in  a 
whisper, — 

"  Farewell  to  the  world  and  worldly  things  !  Now  for  God 
and  his  requirements." 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  meet  him  ?"  I  asked  in  a  voice  as 
low  as  his  own. 

My  heart  almost  stood  still  while  waiting  for  his  answer; 
for  a  while  none  came.  "  Ten  minutes  more,"  I  said,  more 
to  myself  than  to  the  almost  inanimate  form  before  me. 

The  dying  man  roused  himself  from  the  lethargy  into  which 
he  had  fallen,  and  with  an  effort  of  will  raised  himself  in  his 
narrow  berth.  His  eyes  were  again  charged  with  the  fire  of 
the  olden  time,  as  in  a  low  but  positive  voice,  clear  as  a  bell, 
he  electrified  me  when  he  said, — 

"  Chaplain,  I  die  at  peace  with  God  and  man.  In  my 
notes  you  will  find  how,  in  answer  to  the  dying  prayers  of 
m}^  mother  and  the  sacrifice  of  my  noble  father's  life,  I  was 
arrested  by  God's  hands  in  the  midst  of  my  downward  career. 
Now  the  star  of  hope  is  beaming  on  me,  and  I  look  for  the 
robe  of  righteousness." 

Five  minutes  of  eight  bells,  and  the  life-watch  would  be 
almost  ended.  Adrien  had  fallen  back  on  his  pillow  and  was 
so  still  that  I  thought  him  already  gone.  One  minute  more 
passed,  and  he  opened  his  eyes  with  a  smile,  saying, — 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  Borderland.  Come  down  into  the 
dark  valley ;  come  across  the  dark  river.  When  I  shall  have 
met  my  waiting  friends  on  the  farther  shore,  you  can  return." 

"  Impossible !"  I  cried.     "  I  have  not  the  death-mark  upon 


THE  EPISODE.  299 

me,  and  I  will  not  be  allowed  to  enter  the  congregation  of  the 
dead." 

"  Hold  on  upon  my  hand,"  said  he  ;  "  or,  if  you  prefer,  I  will 
hold  on  upon  you,  and  perhaps  you  can  come  to  the  open 
gates,  if  not  beyond. 

"  Hark  !  listen  !     Heard  you  ever  such  beautiful  music  ?" 

I  listened,  but  heard  nothing,  only  the  roar  of  the  heavy 
gale  and  the  thunder  of  the  waves  as  they  struck  the  sides  of 
our  laboring  ship. 

One  minute  more.  I  looked  at  Adrien.  A  heaven-born 
smile  was  on  his  face,  one  hand  was  across  his  breast,  the 
other  held  mine  in  an  iron  grasp.  A  chill  swept  through  my 
whole  system  ;  my  heart's  beating  became  feeble. 

Eight  hells!  The  silvery  tone  rang  through  the  ship, 
far  above  the  noise  of  the  machinery  and  of  the  warring 
elements  without.  I  was  on  my  knees  praying  for  the  depart- 
ing one.  The  lips  of  the  man  before  me  opened  and  uttered 
his  last  words, — 

"  Chaplain,  come !" 

As  the  last  stroke  of  the  bell  died  away  the  door  opened, 
and  the  room  was  filled  with  other  forms.  My  head  fell  on 
the  side  of  the  berth.  In  a  moment  I  was  lifted  to  my  feet 
and  Adrien  stood  by  my  side. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  let  us  leave  the  ship." 

Strange  beings  were  around  us,  but  their  faces  were  veiled 
and  I  could  not  distinguish  them.  We  went  into  the  saloon. 
A  score  of  my  fellow-passengers  were  there ;  some  were  read- 
ing ;  others  with  steaming  glasses  in  their  hands  were  sipping 
the  contents,  in  order  to  sleep,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible 
in  the  quick  rolling  of  our  storm-tossed  craft.  We  lingered 
but  a  moment,  then  passed  out  into  the  dark  night,  and  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation  over  the  vessel's  stern  into  a  dense 
fog-bank.  The  other  figures  were  still  with  us.  I  looked  at 
the  departing  steamship  and  read  her  name  and  the  port  she 
hailed  from, — "  Glasgow."  Then  she  disappeared  into  the 
fog.  A  peculiar  light  all  at  once  seemed  to  illuminate  our 
surroundings.  The  veils  fell  from  the  faces  of  the  figures 
around  us.  Some  of  them  I  had  known  in  past  years,  others 
I  had  never  met.  Adrien  now  let  go  my  hand  and  was  wel- 
comed right  royally  by  them  all.  They  fixed  their  gaze  upon 
me  and  with  one  voice  said, — 


300  ILIAN. 

"  He  has  not  the  death-mark ;  how  is  this  ?" 

I  asked,  was  it  a  crime  to  come  into  their  midst  without 
the  death-mark  ? 

"  No,"  they  said,  "  it  was  not  a  crime ;  but  how  did  I  pass 
the  portals?" 

"  What  portals  ?"     And  I  looked  for  an  explanation. 

One  of  the  forms,  that  seemed  to  be  a  leader,  spoke  to  the 
others  in  a  warning  voice, — 

"  Tell  not  the  secrets  of  the  congregation  of  the  dead  to  one 
who  has  come  among  us  without  the  death-mark  and  is  about 
to  return  to  the  living." 

The  tone  of  voice  was  one  of  pity  and  deep  commiseration 
for  me,  who,  having  failed  to  provide  myself  with  the  insignia 
and  passport  of  death,  would  have  to  return  to  the  unhappy 
condition  of  those  still  on  the  earth.  Adrien  explained  to  them 
that  he  alone  was  responsible  for  bringing  me  along  with  him, 
and  that  I  would  at  once  return  from  whence  I  came.  Turn- 
to  me,  he  continued, — 

"  One  of  my  friends  here  will  accompany  you  back  to  your 
ship,  while  I  must  hasten  to  the  great  tribunal  to  be  weighed 
in  the  balance  of  Grod's  even  justice  Farewell!  and  after 
eighteen  months  I  will  meet  you  at  midnight  on  the  15th  of 
November  under  the  shadow  of  the  old  South  Church,  in 
Boston.  This  permission  has  just  now  been  accorded  me.  Do 
you  solemnly  promise  to  meet  me  there  ?" 

"  I  will  be  there  at  the  appointed  time,"  said  I. 

"  He  turned  and  followed  one  who  was  clothed  in  a  cloud, 
and  whom  I  recognized  as  the  angel  of  death.  I  was  now 
alone  with  the  spirit  that  was  to  go  back  to  the  ship  with  me. 
The  others  had  follow.ed  Adrien. 

"  Cannot  I  see  and  converse  with  some  of  those  that  I  once 
loved  dearly,  even  if  only  for  a  moment?"  I  asked. 

"  Your  wife  and  children  ?"  said  the  spirit,  who  seemed  to 
read  my  thoughts.   "  I  will  ask  permission." 

By  some  means  that  I  could  not  understand  he  transmitted 
my  request.  A  moment  after  an  affirmative  answer  came.  I 
now  saw  a  thick  cloud  approaching,  and  as  it  came  to  my  side 
I  plainly  saw  three  spirit-forms, — my  wife  and  our  two  chil- 
dren. Intense  surprise  was  manifested  on  their  countenances, 
and  again  was  that  question  asked, — 

"  Why  have  you  not  the  death-mark  ?" 


THE   EPISODE.  301 

I  explained  the  reason,  and  asked  how  I  could  obtain  it. 
What  cared  I  for  the  earthly  pilgrimage  when  before  me  in 
radiant  happiness  stood  the  form  of  the  being  that  I  had  loved 
better  than  my  own  life,  and  my  sweet  children  also?  It 
needed  what  was  termed  a  peculiar  mark.  How  or  in  what 
manner  placed  I  could  not  understand.  Yes,  I  was  ready  for 
the  mark  ;  let  it  come.  My  wife,  in  that  gentle  voice  of  the 
long-ago,  which  had  often  been  as  sweet  music  in  my  heart, 
replied  to  my  question, — 

"  The  death-mark  can  only  lawfully  be  given  by  the  decree 
of  the  Great  Jehovah  Elohim." 

As  she  uttered  these  solemn  words  all  the  forms  before  me 
bowed  low,  and  over  the  waters  came  the  sound  of  sweet 
music,  and  I  thought  of  the  words,  "To  me  every  knee  shall 
bow."  I  was  further  told  that  if  I  should  inflict  the  mark 
myself  I  could  not  enter  into  the  rest  of  the  blessed  ones. 

"  Go  back,"  said  my  wife,  "  to  the  work  of  life."  "  Go 
back,"  repeated  my  oldest  born.  "  Go  back,"  echoed  my 
youngest.  Then  they  all  said  to  me,  "  Our  love  has  not 
grown  cold.  We  will  watch  over  you  by  day  and  by  night, 
and  when  your  final  hour  on  earth  shall  come  we  will  be 
there  to  meet  you  and  extend  the  welcome  of  the  heavenly 
world." 

The  cloud  again  enveloped  them,  and  I  saw  them  no  more. 
I  hastened  back  with  my  conductor  to  the  ship.  Her  stern 
appeared  in  view  as  she  rose  and  fell  on  the  surging  sea.  As 
I  reached  the  deck  the  form  at  my  side  vanished,  and  I  passed 
once  more  through  the  saloon.  Only  five  persons  were  in  it. 
I  did  not  linger,  but  sought  the  room  of  death,  and,  opening 
the  door,  entered.  On  the  bed  lay  the  body  of  Adrien  and  by 
its  side  was  my  human  tabernacle.  I  touched  it  on  the 
shoulder,  and  awoke  to  the  earthly  scenes  around  me.  The 
lower  jaw  of  the  dead  had  fallen  and  my  hand  was  fast  locked 
in  his.  With  a  strong  efi"ort  I  unloosed  the  fingers,  and  looked 
at  my  watch,  which  was  still  in  my  left  hand.  It  was  nine 
o'cloi-k.  I  took  out  my  handkerchief  and  fastened  it  around 
the  face  of  the  corpse  and  closed  the  eyes.  As  I  finished  this 
tribute  the  bell  of  the  ship  struck  two  solemn  notes.  I  had 
been  one  hour  either  asleep  or  absent  from  the  body. 

The  door  opened  at  the  moment  of  the  bell  striking  and  the 
surgeon  entered. 

26 


302  ILIAN. 

"  Our  passenger  is  dead,"  he  remarked.  "  He  lasted  longer 
than  I  expected,  I  felt  sure  from  his  symptoms  that  he  would 
pass  off  before  eight  o'clock.  His  vitality  must  have  been 
greater  than  I  expected  to  have  enabled  him  to  hold  out  till 
nine.  I  was  detained  with  a  very  important  case  of  life  and 
death,  and  this  accounts  for  my  not  coming  sooner." 

I  merely  nodded  my  head.  An  explanation  of  the  events 
of  the  past  hour  would  have  been  useless,  and,  indeed,  I  could 
not  understand  it  myself.  As  I  left  the  room  the  surgeon 
locked  the  door,  and  we  went  together  to  the  captain's  room. 
He  asked  at  once  the  question, — 

"When  did  he  die?" 

"  Just  died,"  replied  the  surgeon,  before  I  could  say  a  word. 

It  was  entered  upon  the  log-book  that  Martin  Gambell  (the 
name  on  his  ticket)  had  died  of  pneumonia  at  nine  o'clock. 

I  gave  the  captain  the  dead  man's  instructions  about  his 
clothes  and  his  money,  which,  from  a  memorandum  found  on 
his  body,  was  just  forty  dollars  in  cash  and  a  draft  on  a  Liver- 
pool bank  for  two  hundred  dollars  more.  This  in  due  season 
went,  as  directed,  to  the  Liverpool  Orphan  Asylum. 

The  captain  asked  whether  I  would  be  ready  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning  to  perform  the  funeral  service.  He  did  not 
wish,  he  said,  that  the  other  passengers  should  know  any- 
thing about  the  death  or  funeral.  It  always  made  them  feel 
unpleasant,  especially  the  ladies. 

I  retired  at  once  to  my  state-foom.  My  room-mate  had 
not  yet  come  down,  and  I  was  free  for  a  while  to  ponder  over 
the  strange  events  of  the  evening.  I  weighed  everything  as 
clearly  as  I  could,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  finally  that  the 
morphia  which  I  had  taken  was  the  cause  of  the  strange 
episode.  I  could  not  have  left  the  body  unless  it  was  by  the 
agency  of  some  undiscovered  physical  law.  I  had  had  sev- 
eral similar  experiences  before.  My  brain  was  still  heavy 
from  the  effects  of  the  drug.  A  night's  sleep  would  be 
necessary  in  order  to  clear  my  faculties. 

It  had  been  arranged  already  that  I  was  to  be  called  at  a 
quarter  to  five ;  so,  with  an  earnest  prayer  for  safety  and 
guidance,  I  retired,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  in  a  dreamless 
sleep,  profound  and  sweet. 

Note. — See  Appendix, 


THE  DEEP-SEA   GRAVE.  303 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    DEEP-SEA    GRAVE. 

"  The  gale  was  over,  and  the  sun  lay  red 
On  the  dripping  deck  where  we  placed  the  dead. 
There  was  solemn  reading  and  whispered  prayer, 
And  the  damp  wind  lifted  the  sailor's  hair  ; 
Then  we  covered  him  gently,  and  many  a  wave 
Since  then  has  rolled  o'er  his  deep-sea  grave." 

A  LIGHT  flashed  in  my  face,  while  a  voice  said,  quietly, 
"  All  is  ready  and  the  captain  is  waiting." 

My  room-mate  awoke  and  anxiously  inquired,  "  What  is 
the  matter?" 

I  replied,  a  case  of  serious  illness,  and  soon  dressed  myself 
and  went  on  deck.  We  had  passed  out  of  the  track  of  the 
gale.  The  sun  had  already  risen  from  its  eastern  bed,  the 
wind  was  well  on  the  starboard  beam,  a  southerly  breeze,  with 
every  token  of  a  pleasant  day. 

I  found  the  watch  on  deck  assembled  at  the  gangway. 
The  body  of  Adrien  was  already  in  its  coflSn  of  canvas,  with 
two  heavy  grate-bars  lashed  on  either  side  at  the  feet.  At 
my  request  his  face  had  been  left  uncovered,  and  his  raven 
locks  tinged  with  gray  the  winds  were  softly  lifting.  Still  in 
the  prime  of  life,  yet  his  face  bore  the  marks  of  intense  suffer- 
ing, and  I  saw  with  pain  those  likewise  of  dissipation. 

Turning  to  the  sailors  and  the  captain  and  ofl&cers,  I  said, 
"  There  lies  as  noble  and  true  a  sailor  as  ever  trod  a  ship's 
deck,  and  we  will  now  give  him  a  sailor's  burial." 

I  motioned  to  a  man  who  stood  with  a  needle  in  his  hand, 
and  the  face  of  the  dead  was  gently  covered  and  the  flap  of 
canvas  sewed  down.  The  ship's  engines  were  slowed  to  half 
speed  and  I  began  the  burial  service. 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord." 

When  I  came  to  the  part  "  we  commit  his  body  to  the  deep, 
to  await  the  judgment  day,"  I  motioned  with  my  hand,  and 
the  corpse,  which  was  extended  on  a  plank,  feet  outward,  rest- 
ing on  the  open  gangway,  was  gently  raised  by  several  men. 
It  slowly  commenced  to  slide,  loath  to  leave  the  ship  on  which 
it  had  embarked,  and  struck  the  water  with  a  gentle  splash. 


304  ILIAN. 

The  ocean  opened  to  receive  it  and  immediately  closed  over 
it  as  it  swiftly  shot  downward  perfectly  erect,  down  many 
fathoms  below  the  surface,  to  rest  on  the  ocean-bed  till  the 
day  when  the  sea  shall  give  up  its  dead. 

I  said  nothing  to  my  fellow-passengers  in  the  saloon,  and  as 
Adrien  had  taken  a  steerage-ticket,  he  was  not  missed,  even 
among  the  latter  class. 

A  funeral  at  sea  always  leaves  upon  me  a  sad  impression 
for  several  days.  I  was  more  deeply  aflFected  now,  as  I  had 
to  mourn  a  second  time  over  a  friend,  aud  such  a  friend  as 
Adrien  Homeraud. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  passage  I  looked  over  the 
papers  which  such  a  strange  concurrence  of  events  had  placed 
in  my  care.  They  related  to  the  principal  events  of  Adrien's 
own  life.  The  papers  for  which  I  had  the  order  would  supply 
all  the  missing  links. 

They  were  the  key-notes  to  a  strange  history. 

Although  I  knew  Adrien  Homerand  when  he  was  attached 
to  his  ship  in  New  Orleans,  yet  I  asked  but  few  questions  at 
that  time  about  his  private  history  or  family  matters.  The 
fact  of  his  engagement  to  the  brilliant  Miss  Ilian  Mordine 
was  surmised  by  his  many  friends,  and  they  supposed  that 
the  marriage  would  take  place  when  the  war  should  end. 
The  report  of  his  death  was  never  questioned,  as  many  offi- 
cers had  died  of  yellow-fever.  The  revelation,  therefore,  of 
his  being  still  alive  was  a  startling  fact  to  me  ;  also  his  treason 
to  the  Union  cause. 

By  the  time  of  my  arrival  in  London  I  had  carefully  read 
all  the  papers  that  Adrien  had  given  me.  The  question  which 
came  up  was :  What  was  this  mystery  that  hung  so  fearfully 
over  his  life  ?  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Ilian  telling  her  of  her 
husband's  death,  and  sent  it  through  her  banker  in  Paris.  A 
week  later  I  received  a  reply  through  the  same  source  thank- 
ing me  for  all  that  I  had  done  for  Adrien,  and  adding  also 
that  she  remembered  me  very  well,  as  he  had  often  spoken 
about  me.  She  was  too  full  of  grief  and  distress  to  write 
much,  but  enclosed  me  a  check  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  to  defray  any  expense  I  had  incurred.  This  I  re- 
turned at  once,  stating  that  there  had  been  none.  I  was  very 
desirous  to  see  her,  but  as  I  could  assign  no  legitimate  excuse, 
I  let  the  matter  drop. 


THE  OLD    VICAR.  305 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    OLD    VICAR. 

Among  the  papers  left  in  my  possession  were  the  letters  from 
Ilian  to  her  husband.  After  reading  them  I  felt  certain  that 
there  was  some  close  relationship  between  them.  What  it  was  I 
could  not  surmise.  I  had  the  oriijinal  letter  which  was  sent 
to  Professor  Homerand  in  1843  giving  the  information  of  the 
death  of  the  child  of  Helen  Claymuire  and  also  of  her  marriage. 
The  post-mark  written  by  the  postmaster  was  from  a  town 
in  the  South  of  England.  It  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  should 
go  to  the  spot  and  search  among  the  old  parish  records  I  might 
obtain  some  clues.  Accordingly,  I  took  the  train  for  the  place. 
The  next  day  after  my  arrival  I  visited  the  rector  of  the 
parish  church,  and  told  him  frankly  that  I  was  in  search  of 
information  in  regard  to  events  that  had  taken  place  over 
thirty-four  years  previous.  To  my  astonishment  he  informed 
me  that  the  curate  who  was  then  in  charge  was  still  living  and 
could  be  found  at  Preston.  The  old  records  of  the  church, 
however,  were  in  his  own  possession  and  at  my  service.  I 
looked  over  them,  and  found  the  following  entries  with  full 
particulars : 

"  Baptized  Ilian  Homer,  January  31,  1843,  daughter  of 
George  Homer,  of  Boston,  born  May  3,  1841,  in  London." 

"  Married,  July  19,  1843,  Miss  Helen  Claymuire,  spinster, 
of  South  Carolina,  United  States  of  America,  aged  25,  to 
Thomas  Henry  Verdere." 

"Also,  August  23,  1843,  Miss  Eleanor  Claymuire,  aged 
20,  also  of  America,  to  John  Mordinc." 

And  t-hen  there  was  the  entry : 

"  Buried  Mrs.  Eleanor  Mordine,  January  26,  1844.  Wife 
of  John  Mordine.     Died  of  consumption." 

"  Buried  Thomas  Henry  Yerdere,  September,  1846,  aged 
68." 

I  read  these  entries  over  very  carefully  and  copied  them. 
I  also  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  Preston  and  visit  the  old 
curate.  Perhaps  I  might  get  some  information.  What  I  had 
u  26^ 


306  ILIAN. 

already  obtained  was  very  different  from  that  conveyed  to 
Professor  Homerand  in  1844.  The  writing  on  the  back  of 
the  original  letter  was  in  a  labored  handwriting,  evidently  by 
one  not  used  to  rapid  penmanship  or  to  much  correspondence. 
I  surmised  that  it  had  been  written  by  a  servant,  and  the 
records  which  I  had  seen  confirmed  me  in  this  opinion. 
It  was  done  to  conceal  the  fact  that  Ilian  was  alive. 
I  set  out  at  once  f.)r  Preston  in  the  North  of  England. 
On  the  following  day  I  called  upon  the  Rev.  Joseph  Brown, 
who  had  formerly  been  the  curate  at  the  place  just  mentioned. 
It  was  over  thirty  years  since  the  event  happened,  and  while 
I  was  fortunate  in  finding  alive  the  clergyman  who  had  per- 
formed the  ceremonies  the  record  of  which  I  had  read,  there 
was  nevertheless  a  possibility  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
remember  the  incidents.  I  found  him  at  home,  and  he  gave 
me  a  very  friendly  reception.  He  told  me  that  he  had  always 
desired  to  visit  America,  but  so  far  had  not  been  able  to  do 
so.  He  had,  however,  met  many  American  clergymen,  and 
was  very  glad  to  see  a  representative  of  the  government  of 
this  country.  He  was  not  so  old  as  I  had  apprehended  ;  cer- 
tainly not  over  sixty-five,  even  if  he  was  of  that  age.  After 
half  an  hour  of  conversation  I  arose  to  take  ray  leave,  purpos- 
ing to  call  again  in  a  day  or  so,  and  thus  approach  gradually 
the  object  of  my  visit.  He  pressed  me  to  stay  for  tea,  and 
his  wife,  coming  in  at  the  same  moment,  urged  me  to  do  so. 
I  consented,  and  entertained  them  with  American  anecdotes 
during  the  evening  meal.  After  it  was  over  we  returned  to 
his  study,  with  an  injunction  from  his  wife  to  meet  her  in  the 
drawing-room  in  an  hour.  This  was  the  opportunity  for 
which  I  had  been  seeking,  and  after  a  few  minutes  I  asked 
him  whether  in  his  long  pastorate  he  had  ever  married  any  of 
my  country-people. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  number  of  times,"  was  his  reply. 
"  I  suppose  that  they  all  turned  out  to  be  happily  matched." 
"  Well,  yes,  on  the  whole  ;  although  I  remember  two  sisters 
that  I  married  to  two  Englishmen  who  did  not  long  enjoy 
the  married  state." 

"  How  was  that?"  I  asked.     "  Not  properly  mated  ?" 
"  Oh,  yes,  they  were  mated  all  right ;  but  misfortune  came 
upon  them,"  was  his  reply. 

"  You  interest  me  very  much.     May  I  have  the  melan- 


THE   OLD    VICAR,  307 

choly  pleasure  of  hearing  the  details  ?  I  am  deeply  interested 
in  the  destiny  of  my  fair  countrywomen  when  they  link  their 
fortunes  with  our  English  cousins." 

"  It  is  over  thirty  years  ago,"  said  he.  "  It  happened 
when  I  was  curate  of  a  parish  in  the  South  of  England." 

"  You  must  have  a  very  powerful  memory,"  I  interrupted, 
"  to  remember  so  far  back." 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  he.  "  It  does  not  seem  very 
far  back  to  call  up  events  a  generation  ago,  but  the  trials  of 
these  two  sisters  were  deeply  impressed  upon  my  mind  at  the 
time.  The  oldest,  Miss  Helen  Claymuire,  was  about  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  and  her  sister,  Eleanor,  was  five  years  younger. 
The  eldest  married  a  Mr.  Verdere,  a  gentleman  of  wealth  and 
fully  sixty-five  years  old.  This  marriage  made  a  great  sensa- 
tion at  the  time.  Miss  Claymuire  was  very  wealthy,  and 
consequently  could  not  have  been  accused  of  marriage  for 
money. 

"  A  month  later  I  performed  the  marriage  ceremony  of  her 
sister  Eleanor  with  a  Mr.  Mordine.  He  was  a  younger  son  of 
one  of  the  best  country-families  and  had  but  a  small  income, 
but  his  wife  was  well  off.  She  was  very  frail  and  delicate,  and 
died  five  months  after  her  marriage  from  a  severe  cold.  The 
English  winter  climate  was  too  much  for  her.  Her  husband, 
who  was  tenderly  attached  to  her,  never  recovered  from  her 
loss,  and  followed  her  to  the  grave  in  less  than  a  year.  He 
died  abroad  somewhere. 

"  Mr.  Verdere  died  three  years  after,  and  left  all  of  his  for- 
tune to  his  wife.  Both  these  sisters  were  of  unusual  beauty. 
The  oldest  was  a  brunette  and  the  youngest  a  blonde.  Their 
characters  were  totally  different.  Helen  being  very  cold  and 
haughty,  while  Eleanor  was  the  essence  of  amiability  and 
good  nature." 

"  Of  course  neither  of  them  left  any  children  ?"  I  re- 
marked. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  he.  "  The  youngest  died  too  soon  after 
her  marriage,  and  Mr.  Verdere  was  too  old.  In  fact,  he  was 
almost  a  confirmed  invalid  when  he  married.  He  had  been 
twice  a  widower  previously,  and  never  had  any  children  by 
either  of  his  wives. 

"  But  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  when  the  two  sisters  came 
to  our  neighborhood  to  live  they  had  a  child  about  a  year  old, 


308  ILIAN. 

whose  motker  had  died  in  London  in  giving  it  birth.  She  had 
come  over  to  visit  some  of  her  rehitives  and  died  in  their 
home.  The  Misses  Claymuire  were  great  friends  of  the 
mother,  and  they  were  taking  care  of  the  child,,  who  was  said 
to  be  an  heiress  of  great  wealth.  Her  father  was  a  professor 
in  some  American  college  and  could  not  leave  his  classes,  but 
paid  very  handsomely  for  his  child's  support.  Mrs.  Verdere 
took  the  little  one  to  her  own  home  and  her  husband  offered 
to  adopt  it.  To  this  his  wife  would  not  consent.  She  said 
that  the  child's  father  would  never  agree  to  this." 

"  What  was  the  name  of  this  child  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  baptized  it  myself  under  the  name  of  Ilian  Homer. 
By  the  way,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  whether  you  know  any- 
thing of  the  Claymuire  family.  They  are  from  South  Caro- 
lina, I  believe." 

"  Yes,  it  was  one  of  the  most  aristocratic,  and  they  had 
very  large  estates,  but  it  is  very  nearly  extinct  now.  What 
became  of  Mrs.  Verdere  after  her  husband's  death  ?"  I  asked 
him. 

"  I  left  the  parish  shortly  after  to  accept  a  living  tendered 
by  the  Bishop  of  London,  and  lost  all  trace  of  her." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Brown  came  in  to  announce  that  a  few 
of  her  friends  were  in  the  drawing-room  and  would  be  glad  to 
see  the  American  chaplain.  I  spent  a  very  enjoyable  even- 
ing, and  after  fully  expressing  my  thanks  for  the  hospitality 
received,  I  returned  to  my  hotel.  The  next  day  I  left  for 
Manchester,  where  I  had  relatives  on  my  mother's  side,  who 
always  had  a  cordial  welcome  for  their  American  cousin. 

One  day  I  went  out  to  hunt  up  the  home  where  Adrien 
was  born.  It  had  been  torn  down  to  make  room  for  improve- 
ments. I  felt  that  I  had  been  very  fortunate  in  this  my  very 
first  endeavor  to  unravel  the  mystery  which  had  been  placed 
in  my  possession.  I  needed  further  documentary  evidence, 
and  felt  sure  Mrs.  Verdere  must  have  left  something  of  the 
kind.  If  I  could  only  see  her  child  I  might  be  enlightened. 
How  would  she  receive  the  news  that  she  was  Professor 
Homerand's  daughter  and  half-sister  to  Adrien  ?  This  I  felt 
sure  was  the  case.  I  must  have  stronger  testimony,  however, 
before  I  broached  this  subject  to  her.  She  was  hard  to  find. 
Even  her  banker  did  not  know,  or  would  not  tell,  where  she 
was.     I  must  wait. 


THE   TIN  BOX.  309 

CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    TIN    BOX. 

Months  had  now  passed  since  my  arrival  in  England.  My 
business  was  finished  and  my  health  had  improved.  Having 
engaged  my  passage  on  a  Cunarder,  I  was  making  my  final 
preparation. 

All  this  time  I  had  found  no  trace  of  the  lost  wife  of 
Adrien.  I  had  searched  many  of  the  large  cities,  and  places 
where  the  notes  in  my  possession  gave  clues  as  to  the  likeli- 
hood of  finding  her.  I  had  watched  the  passing  faces  by  the 
hour  in  Loudon,  and  the  same  in  Liverpool,  Manchester,  Glas- 
gow, and  Edinburgh.  I  lingered  on  the  boulevards  in  Paris 
early  and  late,  on  the  Cbamps  Elysees,  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne 
and  other  resorts,  but  all  without  avail.  I  found  in  the  pack- 
age of  papers  a  small  painting  on  ivory  of  Ilian.  I  had  never 
looked  upon  a  lovelier  face,  and  it  was  indelibly  impressed  upon 
me,  and  I  could  have  picked  her  out  among  a  thousand.  In 
fact,  the  face  had  ever  been  before  me  since  the  night  I  first 
met  her  in  New  Orleans. 

As  I  read  in  the  notes  of  all  who  had  fallen  under  the 
bane,  I  might  say  curse,  of  her  fatal  beauty,  I  thought  that 
if  she  had  died  when  a  child  how  much  misery  might  have 
been  avoided  and  how  many  lives  saved  and  honor  unstained 
of  gallant  officers  both  North  and  South.  I  have  reason  to 
believe  that  this  one  single  woman,  with  her  brilliant  talents, 
sparkling  eyes,  and  childlike,  innocent  expression,  was  the 
means  of  more  damage  to  the  Union  cause  than  any  single 
regiment  of  the  Southern  forces  that  had  assembled  under 
the  banner  of  rebellion.  And  she  still  lived  in  her  prime. 
Strong-willed  and  finely-developed  men  when  once  brought 
under  her  dazzling  enchantment  became  mere  playthings. 

The  Saturday  before  my  intended  departure  I  was  walking 
in  Hyde  Park,  when  a  carriage  drove  by  with  a  single  occu- 
pant sitting  behind  the  liveried  driver.  It  was  a  lady,  with  a 
sunshade  over  her  head.     Many,  very  many,  of  the  same  sort 


310  ILIAN. 

were  passing  and  repassing,  and  I  was  about  to  go  on  when 
she  turned  her  head  towards  me.  My  nerves  thrilled  as  with 
a  shock,  and  the  blood  flew  like  lightning  through  my  veins. 
The  counterpart  of  my  locket  was  before  me.  I  followed  the 
carriage,  but  it  was  lost  in  the  numbers  that  were  rapidly 
passing  out  at  the  gate.  At  Oxford  Street  I  had  observed  a 
policeman  look  at  it  closely  before  I  came  up.  I  now  asked 
him  whether  he  knew  the  occupant.  Either  he  did  not  know 
or  else  he  got  the  carriages  confused,  but  he  answered  at 
once, — 

"  It  is  the  Countess  of ." 

This  did  not  satisfy  me.  I  felt  certain  that  I  was  right, 
and  that  I  had  seen  Ilian.  For  the  next  five  days  I  watched 
carefully  in  Hyde  Park,  but  it  was  of  no  avail. 

My  time  was  now  up.  I  left  London  on  Friday  for  Liver- 
pool, and  embarked  next  day  for  New  York  on  a  Cunard 
steamship.  There  were  some  three  hundred  passengers  in  the 
saloon,  and  we  were  uncomfortably  crowded.  We  had  a  pleas- 
ant voyage.  Nothing  unusual  happened,  and  after  ten  days 
we  found  ourselves  steaming  up  New  York  Harbor,  and  were 
soon  in  the  tender  mercies  of  the  custom-house  officers. 
This  ordeal  is  more  agonizing  in  the  prospective  than  in  the 
realization.  I  have  made  many  trips  into  New  York,  and  in- 
variably found  the  officers  courteous  and  obliging  in  the  ex- 
treme. Experience  has  taught  them  to  distinguish  the  profes- 
sional smuggler  from  the  innocent  pleasure-seeking  European 
traveller. 

But  little  more  remains  to  be  told  in  this  chapter. 

I  went  at  once  to  Boston  and  took  the  horse-cars  to  Cam- 
bridge. I  knew  the  street  well,  for  my  brother  had  boarded 
near  the  house  that  I  was  seeking.  I  had  often  taken  my 
meals  with  him  when  I  found  it  inconvenient  to  return  to  my 
own  distant  lodgings.  We  both  read  law  at  Harvard  Law 
School,  and  consequently  I  was  familiar  with  the  place.    I  rang 

the  bell  at  No.  — , Street,  and  was  fortunate  in  seeing 

Mrs.  Hardcash  come  to  the  door  herself.  Like  many  of  the 
prudent  New  England  housewives,  they  often  preferred  to  at- 
tend to  the  door-bell  themselves,  and  save  the  loss  of  time  to 
their  gossiping  help. 

I  presented  her  the  order  for  the  box  of  papers,  and  stated 
that  Mr.  Martin  Gambell  was  dead,  and  I  was  winding  up  his 


THE  TIN  BOX.  311 

affairs.  Mrs.  Hardcasli  read  the  paper  carefully,  and  while 
she  did  so  I  had  time  to  study  her  character. 

She  was  a  widow  of  uncertain  age,  and  how  long  since  the 
late  worthy  Mr.  Hardcash  had  shaken  off  this  mortal  coil  was 
not  known.  She  was  dressed  in  black  alpaca,  carefully  pro- 
tected by  a  huge  apron,  and  a  large  widow's  cap  on  her  small 
head.  Her  massive  body  and  keen  little  eyes  gave  her  the 
expression  of  cunning.  She  was  one  of  those  women  who  look 
upon  all  men  as  manoeuvring  in  some  way  to  impose  on  woman- 
kind in  general,  and  themselves  in  particular.  By  way  of  a 
feeler  I  asked  whether  there  were  any  bills  unpaid;  if  so,  I 
was  ready  to  settle  them. 

Before  his  death  Adrien  had  informed  me  that  he  had  in- 
curred no  liabilities,  and  I  had  in  my  pocket  a  receipt  in  full 
for  all  claims  to  the  date  specified. 

"  Let  me  see,"  answered  Mrs.  Hardcash,  musing  and  cal- 
culating upon  how  much  I  was  disposed  to  swallow  of  fictitious 
accounts.     "  I  suppose  Mr.  Gambell  left  a  mint  of  money  ?" 

"  Enough,"  I  replied,  "  to  pay  all  just  claims." 

"  Just  so,  just  so,"  was  her  answer. 

I  watched  her  cunning  little  eyes  sparkle  at  what  she  con- 
sidered a  small  bonanza  and  a  gullible  executor  willing  to  pay 
all  claims  against  a  dead  man's  estate.  Some  persons  think  it 
no  crime  to  cheat  the  dead,  but  would  not  defraud  the  living 
for  fear  of  consequences. 

"  There  was  a  balance  due  of  thirty-five  dollars  when  Mr. 
Gambell  left,"  said  she.  "  I  lent  him  this  money  to  go  to 
Europe  with,  and  I  also  paid  a  tailor's  bill  of  twenty-five  dollars 
and  a  boot-maker's  bill  of  fifteen  dollars.  Then  I  paid  a  loan 
to  him  from  one  of  my  boarders  of  twenty  dollars :  let  me 
see,  that  makes — how  much  ?" 

"  Ninety-five  dollars,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  there  is  the  interest,"  she  continued. 

"  Would  one  hundred  dollars  be  sufficient  ?"  T  meekly 
asked. 

"  Well,  you  had  better  make  it  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five,"  said  she.  "  There  may  be  other  bills  come  in,  and  I 
like  to  keep  up  the  credit  of  my  boarders." 

This  was  said  with  a  motherly  air. 

I  was  amused  at  the  idea  of  a  Massachusetts  boarding- 
house-keeper  paying  the  debts  of  her  boarders,  especially  at 


312  ILIAN. 

Cambridge,  with  the  many  Harvard  students  noted  for  spend- 
ing money,  their  own  and  other  people's.  All  university 
towns  have  about  the  same  record.  I  took  out  my  pocket- 
book,  and  Mrs.  Hardcash  immediately  asked  me  into  the  par- 
lor. She  said  that  she  would  go  for  the  box,  and  if  I  would 
fill  out  a  receipt  for  the  money  she  would  sign  it. 

I  fumbled  for  a  moment  among  the  papers  in  my  pocket- 
book,  and  asked  with  a  careless  tone, — 

"  Did  you  notice  any  blood  on  one  of  the  corners  of  the 
box  Mr.  Gambell  left  you  ?" 

"  Blood  !"  screamed  out  Mrs.  Hardcash, — "  blood  did  you 
say  ?"     And  she  dropped  into  a  seat. 

"  Yes,  blood  ;  I  may  want  your  testimony  on  the  trial." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !'  has  there  been  a  murder,  and  have  I  had  a 
box  in  my  possession  with  blood  on  it  ?  This  will  ruin  the 
character  of  my  house.  Some  of  the  Harvard  College  boys 
are  boarding  with  me,  and  if  they  knew  that  a  murder  had 
been  committed  and  there  were  blood-stains  in  the  house, 
why,  the  dear  boys  would  not  be  able  to  sleep,  and  my  law- 
students  would  like  no  better  fan  than  hunting  up  the  evi- 
dence.    Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  what  will  I  do  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  there  was  a  murder,"  I  replied,  as  Mrs. 
Hardcash  was  getting  hysterical ;  "  I  merely  asked  whether 
you  saw  any  blood  on  the  box.     Go  and  get  it." 

She  jumped  from  her  chair,  hastened  up-stairs,  and  soon 
returned  with  a  large  japanned  cash-box  with  two  locks.  I  had 
the  key  in  my  possession  and  opened  it  at  once.  It  was  filled 
with  papers,  lei:ters,  and  several  diaries.  After  locking  it  again, 
T  looked  suspiciously  at  one  of  the  corners  and  then  smelt  it. 

"  Is  that  the  blood  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hardcash.  "  Oh, 
do  take  that  box  away  !  And  here  is  a  newspaper, — wrap  it 
up ;  do  not  let  any  one  see  you  take  a  box  with  blood  on  out 
of  my  house.  The  detectives  in  Boston  would  be  hounding 
me  all  over  Cambridge,  and  with  the  cross-questions  of  the 
reporters  I  would  go  mad.     Oh,  take  it  away  at  once  !" 

After  carefully  wrapping  up  the  box  I  took  out  a  roll  of 
bills,  and  asked, — 

"  How  much  did  you  say  Mr.  Gambell  owed  you  ?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing  ;  he  paid  every  dollar  before  he  left.  It 
was  another  boarder  that  owed  the  amount  I  stated.  1  get 
mixed  in  my  accounts  very  often." 


THE   TIX  BOX.  313 

Once  more  I  smelt  the  corner  of  the  box.  This  ended 
our  interview.  It  was  the  cHmax.  Mrs.  Hardcash  opened 
the  door  and  begged  me  to  take  away  that  awful  box,  and  to 
be  sure  not  to  let  any  one  know  that  it  came  from  her  house, 
or  her  business  would  be  ruined. 

I  bowed,  thanked  her,  and  went  out.  As  I  turned  the 
corner  she  was  still  watching  me,  so  I  again  took  a  sniff  of  the 
box  in  my  hand.  I  heard  the  door  slammed  by  the  now 
thoroughly  frightened  Mrs.  Hardcash. 

I  felt  no  compunctions  of  conscience  at  thus  acting  to  this 
woman.  She  had  deliberately  tried  to  swindle  a  dead 
man's  estate,  or  rather  myself,  for  I  had  not  a  single  dollar  of 
Adrien's.  Had  she  asked  ten,  or  even  twenty,  dollars,  I  would 
have  paid  it  as  a  gratuity,  but  did  not  propose  to  be  mulcted 
in  a  sum  that  was  not  legally  due.  Would  that  every  man  or 
woman  on  the  eve  of  wrong-doing  could  be  so  easily  deterred 
from  crime  ! 

On  my  arrival  in  Philadelphia  I  set  myself  to  search  the 
papers  placed  in  my  care.  The  work  was  very  laborious.  I 
had  to  arrange  the  whole  matter  in  detail,  and  in  accordance 
with  my  oath  to  Adrien  I  must  keep  this  matter  a  secret 
from  my  friends.  The  number  of  letters  that  I  had  to  read 
and  assort  kept  me  hard  at  work  for  many  months.  Often 
did  the  midnight  hour  find  me  at  the  work. 

I  was  in  correspondence  with  Dr.  Rechard,  and  had  called 
personally  upon  Mr.  Rendeem  and  his  family.  My  position, 
and  as  a  friend  of  Adrien,  made  me  a  welcome  visitor.  No 
one  knew  where  Ilian  was.  I  did  not  care  to  trust  to  the 
post  the  information  which  I  had  obtained  in  England,  and  I 
hoped  to  meet  her.  I  was  convinced  in  my  own  mind  that 
she  was  the  daughter  of  Professor  Homerand,  but  there  was 
no  documentary  evidence  to  sustain  this, — nothing  but  the  in- 
formation I  had  obtaijied  from  the  E,ev.  Mr.  Brown,  the 
vicar  of  Preston.  I  was  therefore  compelled  to  wait  till  I 
could  see  Adrien's  widow. 

Perhaps  then  the  mystery  would  be  cleared. 


27 


BOOK      VI. 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE    MIDNIGHT    TOKEN. 

I  WAS  perplexed  over  a  question  which  may  seem  trivial 
to  my  readers.     To  me  it  was  of  importance. 

Did  I  make  a  genuine  promise  to  Adrien  in  his  dying  hour 
to  meet  him  on  the  15th  of  November  under  the  shadow 
of  the  old  South  Church  in  Boston  ?  Or  was  it  merely  an 
imaginary  promise  while  I  was  under  the  influence  of  the 
large  dose  of  morphia  which  I  had  taken  ?  If  so,  then  there 
was  no  validity  in  the  act,  and  I  need  trouble  myself  no  longer 
about  it.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  I  had  bound  myself  by 
a  solemn  promise,  how  could  I  keep  the  compact  when  I  knew 
he  could  not  be  there  himself? 

I  resolved  to  submit  the  question  to  a  doctor  of  divinity  in 
whom  I  had  the  utmost  confidence.  When  I  was  seated  in 
his  study  I  put  the  question  bluntly. 

"  Doctor,"  I  asked,  "  are  promises  made  to  a  dying  man 
valid  under  all  circumstances,  and  can  they  be  evaded  ?" 

"  That  is  a  strange  question  to  ask.  Why,  of  course,  a 
promise  made  on  an  occasion  like  that  must  be  kept  as  part 
of  a  religious  duty." 

"  Yet,  doctor,  as  you  are  well  aware,  promises  are  made 
daily  to  persons  on  their  death-beds  and  broken  without 
scruple  of  conscience." 

"  I  am  painfully  aware  of  that  fact  in  my  pastorate.  I 
know  of  several  cases  where  wives  passing  away  and  afraid  of 
a  step-mother's  carelessness,  have  exacted  a  solemn  promise 
from  their  husbands  not  to  get  married  till  their  children  had 
grown  up  and  were  settled  in  life ;  yet  within  two  years  after 
they  married  again,  on  the  plea  that  the  promise  given  to  their 
former  wife  was  wrung  from  them  in  the  excitement  of  the 
314 


THE  MIDNIGHT  TOKEN.  315 

death-scene, — obtained,  they  claimed,  by  undue  influence  over 
their  feelings,  and  therefore  null  and  void.  Now  I  hold  that 
once  a  man  or  woman  agrees  to  do  certain  things  after  the 
death  of  one  of  their  kindred,  they  are  bound  to  carry  out  the 
conditions,  no  matter  how  much  it  may  inconvenience  them. 
You  remember  that  passage  in  Ecclesiastes,  chapter  v.,  '  When 
thou  vowest  a  vow  unto  God,  defer  not  to  pay  it ;  for  he  hath 
no  pleasure  in  fools :  pay  that  which  thou  hast  vowed.' 

"  I  agree  with  you  on  that  point,"  said  I,  "  that  when  a 
vow  is  made  it  should  be  kept ;  but  a  promise  to  a  dying  man 
and  a  vow  unto  God  are  two  different  things." 

"  In  what  way  ?  What  is  your  definition  of  a  solemn 
promise?" 

"  Usually  there  is  the  intention  of  calling  upon  God  to 
witness  the  compact." 

"  Exactly,  and  with  such  a  witness  where  can  justification 
be  found  for  breaking  that  which  you  have  vowed  ?  A  solemn 
promise  to  a  fellow-creature,  with  God  as  a  witness,  is  virtually 
u  vow. 

"  But  supposing  that  the  promise  made  is  a  foolish  one," 
said  I,  "  and  would  make  you  ridiculous  in  trying  to  keep  it  ?" 

"  I  still  hold  that  it  is  your  duty  to  do  that  which  you  prom- 
ised. But  let  me  have  some  light  on  the  subject.  Is  your 
leading  question  suppositious,  or  from  your  own  experience  ?" 

"  The  latter  is  the  case,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  made  a  compact  with  some  one  who  was  passing 
out  of  the  world  to  do  certain  things  after  his  departure?" 

"  I  think  I  did.  I  was  under  a  great  mental  strain  and 
hardly  master  of  my  actions,  but  the  impression  left  upon  me 
was  that  I  agreed  to  go  to  a  certain  designated  place  on  a 
night  specified  and  there  he  would  meet  me.  Now  this  is  an 
impossibility  on  his  part,  because  he  is  dead  and  his  body  is 
buried  two  thousand  fathoms  deep  at  sea." 

"  Admit  that  this  is  so,  what  prevents  you  from  keeping 
your  part  of  the  agreement?" 

"  Nothing  but  the  absurdity  of  doing  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  cannot  be  there  in  spirit  to 
fulfil  his  part  of  the  bargain  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  no  faith  in  spirit  manifestations." 

"  Your  want  of  faith  in  this  matter  does  not  prevent  his 
comiug.     At  all  events,  as  a  man  of  honor  you  are  bound  to 


316  ILIAN. 

do  what  jou  solemnly  agreed  to  perform.  You  should  have 
weighed  the  absurdity  of  the  question  before  you  consented." 

Other  visitors  calling  upon  the  worthy  doctor  at  this  point 
of  our  conversation,  I  withdrew  and  returned  home.  The 
whole  subject  now  turned  upon  the  question,  Did  I  really 
make  this  promise,  or  was  it  incidental  to  the  delirium  of 
the  morphia  I  had  taken?  I  was  inclined  to  the  latter 
view,  and  finally  accepted  it  as  the  true  solution,  and  that 
therefore  I  was  not  bound  to  go  to  Boston  to  keep  the  ap- 
pointment. 

The  14th  of  November  came,  the  weather  was  stormy,  and 
this  added  to  my  resolution  to  stay  at  home.  My  house- 
keeper asked  me  whether  I  had  given  up  the  notion  of  going 
to  Boston  next  day.  I  replied  that  I  had  almost  resolved 
that  I  would  not  go,  but  that  I  wished  to  be  called  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  then  my  going  or  staying  would 
depend  upon  contingencies.  At  ten  I  retired  to  my  chamber. 
I  had  been  worrying  all  day  over  the  vexed  problem,  and  when 
I  got  into  bed  I  could  not  sleep  for  some  time. 

I  had  taken  unusual  precaution  with  the  connections  of  my 
burglar-alarm.  My  house  had  been  fitted  throughout  with 
appliances  for  detecting  the  attempts  of  persons  to  enter  my 
house  for  unlawful  purposes.  When  I  closed  my  chamber- 
door  I  took  very  particular  pains  to  see  everything  in  working 
order,  and  it  was  with  a  smile  of  grim  satisfaction  that  I  ar- 
ranged my  wires  so  that  the  slightest  attempt  to  open  the  door 
or  any  of  the  windows  would  result  in  creating  an  alarm  that 
would  awaken  my  neighbors. 

At  eleven  I  fell  asleep.  I  woke  up  again,  as  I  thought, 
three  hours  after,  but  on  looking  at  the  clock  I  found  that  it 
wanted  five  minutes  of  midnight.  As  a  greater  precaution  I 
had  left  the  gas  turned  on  with  a  low  flame.  I  now  got  up 
and  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  noticed  that  the  rain  was 
still  falling  heavily.  After  a  few  minutes  I  returned  to  my 
bed.  It  was,  perhaps,  some  twenty  minutes  after  ;  I  was  not 
asleep,  for  my  mind  was  troubled  about  the  question  of  going 
to  Boston  the  next  morning.  I  was  lying  upon  my  left  side, 
when  1  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  shadow  falling  across  the 
light.  Turning  over,  I  saw  the  form  of  a  man  standing  by  the 
bedside.  I  sprang  upon  the  floor  at  once,  and  going  to  a 
drawer,  took  out  a  revolver  that  I  always  kept  there  loaded. 


THE  MIDNIGHT  TOKEN.  317 

I  levelled  it  at  the  place  where  the  stranger  had  been  standing, 
but  he  was  gone.  I  looked  under  the  bed,  but  could  see 
nothing.  I  then  went  to  the  door ;  it  was  securely  bolted, 
so  were  the  windows.  What  could  it  mean  ?  I  was  not 
frightened  in  any  way,  neither  did  I  have  any  notion  of  a 
spirit-appearance.  For  an  hour  I  sat  in  a  chair,  trying  to 
solve  the  problem.  Perhaps,  I  thought,  the  form  would  come 
again,  but  it  did  not.  It  seemed  to  me  very  much  like  bull- 
dozing me  into  complying  with  a  promise  which  I  was  not 
certain  that  I  had  made.  Finally  I  comforted  myself  with  the 
reflection  that  it  was  only  the  play  of  my  imagination.  So  I 
went  back  to  bed,  and  lay  fur  a  while  on  my  back  watching 
both  sides  of  the  room.  At  length  I  fell  asleep,  and  woke  up 
as  the  clock  was  striking  six.  I  arose  at  once  and  found  it  a 
dismal  morning,  still  raining ;  and  the  very  idea  of  going  on 
a  long  journey  gave  me  the  blues.  My  housekeeper  knocked 
at  my  door  and  asked  me  whether  I  had  decided  to  go  to 
Boston.  I  answered,  rather  sarcastically,  "  Not  if  I  know 
myself;  it  is  too  wet." 

"  Ts  the  business  very  important  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Well,  I  do  not  know,"  said  I.     "  The  fact  is,  I  do  not 
know  its  nature." 

"  Does  the  gentleman  expect  you  this  evening  ?" 
"  Of  that  I  am  not  quite  certain." 

"  Could  you  not  telegraph  to  him  ?  I  will  take  the  message 
to  the  office.     It  is  not  far." 

"  I  would  do  so  if  I  knew  where  to  find  him." 
"  Do  you  not  know  the  hotel  where  he  is  stavinsr  ?" 
"I  do  not." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  come  to  see  you  if  you  find  it  incon- 
venient to  go  to  Boston." 

I  was  about  to  answer  that  I  had  a  faint  idea  that  he  had 
come  during  the  night  and  I  did  not  want  any  more  such 
visits.  I  checked  myself,  however.  The  good-natured  old 
soul  would  have  instantly  left  my  house  if  I  had  intimated 
that  it  was  haunted. 

"  If  you  have  my  cofi'ee  ready  I  will  take  it,"  I  said  to  her, 
changing  the  subject. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  was  seated  at  the  breakfast-table  trying 
to  read  the  morning  paper,  which  had  just  been  left,  but  I 
could  not  fix  my  mind  upon  it.     It  was  now  seven  o'clock, 

27^ 


318  I^I^^^^' 

and  the  train  for  Boston  left  at  half-past  eight.  It  would 
take  me  a  full  half-hour  to  reach  the  station,  and  I  ought  to 
have  a  margin  of  ten  mioutes  to  get  my  ticket.  I  finished  my 
breakfiist,  and  then  found  myself  in  a  sharp  mental  conflict 
with  some  influence  which  tried  to  persuade  me  to  go  to 
Boston.  I  refused  to  yield.  The  clock  marked  half-past 
seven.  This  only  gave  me  twenty  minutes  to  dress  and  pack 
up  a  satchel.  I  began  to  get  cross  because  of  the  persistency 
of  this  occult  agency  that  was  worrying  me  so  relentlessly. 
Three  minutes  more  passed,  and  I  was  in  a  condition  I  can- 
not describe.  I  again  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  twenty- 
five  minutes  of  eight. 

"  I  cannot  get  ready  in  time,"  I  said,  half  aloud. 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  was  the  response,  yet  I  heard  no  voice. 

"  Stop  this  nonsense,  and  get  ready  and  go  to  Boston,"  was 
an  imperative  command  that  was  conveyed  to  my  intellect.  It 
seemed  to  be  spoken,  yet  not  a  sound  was  heard.  What  fol- 
lowed I  hardly  know.  By  ten  minutes  of  eight,  however,  I 
stood  in  my  hall-way  with  a  small  satchel  in  my  hand.  I  told 
my  housekeeper  I  had,  on  second  reflection,  decided  to  go  to 
Boston,  and  would  return  on  the  following  evening.  I  found 
a  horse-car  passing  the  next  corner,  and  was  soon  at  the 
station. 

''  Ticket  for  Boston  ?"  I  asked  at  the  office. 

"  Eight  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents,"  was  the  reply. 

I  paid  the  amount,  and  said,  "  So  much  gone  to  the  dogs." 
But  I  was  out  of  the  conflict  that  I  had  been  in  since  I  arose 
from  my  bed. 

The  trip  to  my  destination  was  without  incident. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   OLD    SOUTH   CHURCH. 

It  was  half-past  six  when  I  arrived  in  Boston.  I  went  at 
once  to  the  Tremont  House.  It  was  cold,  dismal,  and  wet 
outside  ;  but  within  the  massive  granite  hotel  all  was  cheer- 
ful.    I  enjoyed  a  bountiful  supper  and  wondered  how  I  could 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH.     319 

occupy  the  time  till  midnight.  Oae  hour  I  spent  in  walking 
up  and  down  my  bedroom,  abusing  myself  for  my  asinine 
conduct  in  coming  to  Boston  at  all  on  such  a  fool's  errand.  I 
weighed  the  prutit  and  loss  of  the  whole  affair.  On  the  latter 
side  there  would  be  fully  twenty  dollars  out  of  my  pocket  and 
perhaps  a  severe  cold,  and  I  would  hereafter  have  serious 
doubts  of  the  equilibrium  of  my  mental  powers.  The  profit 
I  could  not  see.  Well,  having  no  one  else  to  abuse,  and  no 
other  shoulder  to  lay  the  blame  on,  I  was  compelled  perforce 
to  vent  my  anger  on  myself.  After  a  while  this  became 
monotonous.  I  went  down  to  the  drawing-room,  and  tried  to 
read,  but  could  not.  A  dozen  times  I  went  out  to  the  main 
entrance  and  each  time  I  came  back  with  an  increased  amount 
of  "  indigo,"  as  a  friend  of  mine,  a  college  president,  once 
expressed  the  term  for  the  blues.  The  clocks  all  seemed  to 
me  to  be  going  very  slowly. 

Can  I  ever  forget  that  evening  ?  From  nine  to  ten  was 
like  a  full  day  in  period.  Eleven  I  thought  never  would 
strike.  At  half-past  I  was  ready  with  my  overcoat  on  and  I 
set  out.  I  did  not  care  to  reach  the  church  before  ten  minutes 
of  midnight.  I  had  not  the  slightest  expectation  of  meeting 
the  spirit  of  Adrien  in  any  form.  The  very  idea  of  it  was 
absurd.  Spirit-manifestations  never  had  any  charm  for  me  ; 
for  while  I  had  the  fullest  faith  in  the  Bible  and  all  its  teach- 
ings, yet  there  was  no  affinity  between  myself  and  the  so- 
called  spirit-mediums,  because  they  had  no  biblical  authority 
for  their  doctrines. 

I  was  in  Boston,  and  on  my  way  to  keep  an  appointment 
with  a  dead  man,  because  I  believed  that  I  had  made  a  sol- 
emn promise  to  be  at  the  old  South  Church  at  midnight  of 
the  15th  of  November.  Although  it  was  an  inconvenience, 
it  did  not  harm  me  in  any  way  to  keep  this  promise.  I 
walked  down  to  Washington  Street  and  looked  towards  the 
church.  The  recollection  then  came  vividly  to  my  mind  of 
the  terrible  curse  pronounced  at  this  very  spot,  not  far  from 
forty  years  before.  I  thought  also  of  the  wedding  that  took 
place  inside  of  its  hallowed  walls  and  of  the  result  that  fol- 
lowed. How  many  of  the  witnesses  of  that  marriage  were 
still  alive  ?  Very  few,  indeed.  I  knew  of  but  one,  and  that 
one  was  Professor  Homerand's  brother. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.     It  wanted  ten  minutes  of  the  ap- 


320  ILIAN. 

pointed  hour.  I  was  apparently  alone  on  the  street.  The 
storm  had  driven  every  one  in-doors.  I  met  but  few  watch- 
men ;  even  they  were  under  shelter.  The  rain  had  begun  to 
moderate  a  little  as  I  left  my  hotel.  Now  it  had  ceased,  but 
the  night  was  cold.  A  suggestion  came  to  me.  Suppose 
that  I  should  see  the  shade  of  Adrien,  what  would  I  do? 
Well,  I  would  doubt  the  evidence  of  my  senses ;  conclude  it 
was  a  hallucination,  an  imagination,  or  some  other  deception. 
Would  I  be  afraid  ?  No,  I  thought  not.  Why  should  I  be 
frightened  ?  If  it  were  possible  for  the  spirit  of  my  friend  to 
come,  he  would  not,  even  if  he  could,  harm  me.  "  But  then," 
I  argued  to  myself,  "  he  cannot  come  back,'  so  there  is  no  use 
speculating  what  I  would  do  in  the  event  of  seeing  a  spirit." 
A  medium  once  offered  to  show  me  the  spirit  of  my  grand- 
father, all  for  the  paltry  sum  of  five  dollars  cash  in  advance. 
I  replied  that  I  claimed  two  such  ancient  relatives;  which 
one  did  he  propose  to  let  me  gaze  upon  ? 

"  Whichever  you  ask  for,"  said  he  ;  "  your  maternal  or 
paternal." 

"  But  who  will  identify  the  grandfather  that  you  produce? 
I  never  saw  either  of  them." 

"  I  will,"  was  his  assuring  answer. 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  hesitatingly  remarked  ;  "  but  I  am  rather 
sceptical.  I  will  want  the  identification  of  some  one  of  his 
friends  who  knew  him." 

"  Well,  I  will  call  up  any  one  you  name,"  he  promised. 

"  That  is  very  kind,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  don't  know  who  they 
are,  and  they  would  need  vouchers  also." 

"  Oh,  you  demand  too  much,  my  friend.  I  do  not  suppose 
five  hundred  spirits  would  satisfy  you." 

"  Yes,  they  would,  and  far  less  a  number  than  that,"  I 
answered.  "  If  you  can  let  me  hold  conversation  in  propria 
persona  with  some  dead  friend,  whose  name  I  will  write  on  a 
piece  of  paper  and  fold  it  up,  and  then,  if  I  can  see  the  form 
and  talk  of  things  past  and  gone  and  known  only  to  myself,  I 
will  cheerfully  double  your  fee  and  go  away  feeling  that  I 
had  gone  through  a  pleasant  dream,  but  I  would  not  be  a 
convert  to  spiritualism."     So  I  left  him. 

From  all  this  my  readers  will  see  that  I  approached  the  old 
South  Church  with  no  expectation  of  seeing  any  one,  but 
perhaps  a  policeman,  who  would  probably  have  an  eye  on  my 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH     321 

movements, — that  and  nothing  more  ?  Candidly,  I  did  not 
desire  to  see  any  spirit-form,  because  I  would  be  placed  at 
a  great  disadvantage.  A  spirit  would  vastly  be  my  superior 
in  the  knowledge  of  a  thousand  subjects  that  I  could  never 
hope  to  understand,  while  remaining  a  tenant  of  my  frail 
tabernacle  of  clay.  This  conscious  superiority  would  perhaps 
tend  to  make  it  "  put  on  airs,"  and  as  I  detest  the  human 
species  who  do  such  things,  I  knew  I  should  at  once  dislike  a 
spirit  on  the  same  account.  Perhaps  he  might  condescend- 
ingly pity  my  ignorant,  trammelled,  and  limited  sphere 
of  thinking  and  activity,  and  this  would  make  matters 
worse.  On  the  whole,  therefore,  I  would  prefer  to  be  excused 
from  an  interview  of  this  description.  "  Declined  with 
thanks."  I  would  rather  meet  a  score  of  tangible  flesh-and- 
blood  species  than  one  of  the  opposite  condition. 

I  looked  again  at  the  face  of  the  clock  on  the  church-steeple. 
It  wanted  five  minutes  of  the  midnight  hour,  when,  according 
to  the  ancient  superstition,  the  ghosts  of  the  departed  came 
back  to  their  old  haunts.  '•  I  will  allow  a  margin  of  five 
minutes,"  I  said  to  myself,  feeling  full  of  facetious  humor. 
"  Perhaps  the  conveyance  by  which  he  comes  may  be  detained, 
although  I  have  heard  it  stated  that  spirits  are  very  punctual." 
Five  minutes  is  a  short  allowance,  I  admit,  but  then  I  was 
cold,  and,  using  a  nautical  parlance,  I  felt  that  "  to  come  snugly 
to  anchor  in  blanket  bay"  would  be  not  only  a  more  judicious 
proceeding,  but  certainly  more  to  my  taste  and  feeling.  Within 
half  an  hour  I  hoped  to  be  in  my  bed,  prepared  for  a  sweet 
sleep  and  a  sense  of  being  the  happiest  man  in  Boston,  because 
I  should  have  performed  a  promise  and  would  have  exploded 
the  fallacy  of  spirit-manifestations  and  all  such  unrealistic 
theories. 

I  again  looked  at  the  clock.  The  large  hand  made  a  spas- 
modic jump  from  one  minute  to  the  other.  It  still  wanted 
three  minutes.  The  clouds  were  gathering  black  overhead. 
I  wanted  to  go  home.  I  did  not  feel  safe.  Some  night-prowl- 
ers might  come  and  demand  the  loan  of  my  watch  and  my 
pocket-book  ;  they  might  come  with  arguments  that  would 
overwhelm  any  objections.  Some  zealous  watchman  might 
arrest  me  for  loitering  around  the  church-door,  perhaps  accuse 
me  of  being  a  tramp  trying  to  obtain  a  free  night's  lodging  in 
the  sacred  edifice. 


322  ILIAN. 

Once  more  I  looked  up  at  the  great  dial.  Both  hands 
were  on  the  mark  of  twelve.  Why  did  not  the  bell  sound  ? 
I  waited  with  bated  breath.  Slowly  a  vibrating  tone  rang 
out  on  the  midnight  air.  "  One,  two,  three,"  and  so  on  to  the 
complete  twelve.  I  looked  carefully  around  and  could  see 
nothing  living  or  dead,  I  looked  upward  to  the  steeple; 
perhaps  he  would  come  that  way,  but  I  saw  only 

"  The  clouds  parting  anon  to  discover  a  star, 
Then  rajrina:  again  like  giants  at  war." 


I  was  not  in  the  least  disappointed,  for  I  had  never  for  a 
single  instant  expected  any  other  result.  I  turned  towards 
the  church-door  and  said,  in  a  mocking  tone, — 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Spirit ;  I  hope  you  will  have " 

I  never  finished  the  sentence,  for  at  my  side  I  saw  the  form 
of  Adrien.  It  was  not  the  face  of  the  man  whom  I  had  seen 
die  in  the  state-room  of  the  Cunard  ship  in  the  heavy  gale ; 
nor  was  it  the  pale  form  of  the  clay  showing  terrible  marks  of 
dissipation  that  had  gone  into  his  deep-sea  grave.  No,  it  was 
the  expressive  countenance  that  I  had  seen  so  often  in  New 
Orleans,  and  which  welcomed  me  many  times  at  the  gang- 
way of  his  ship.  There  was  a  heaven-born  smile  on  his  face 
now  that  had  no  counterpart  to  any  that  earthly  joys  could 
bring  up. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  felt  the  terrors  of  a  great 
fright.  I  had  previously  stood  day  after  day  in  battle  with 
the  enemy's  shot  and  shell  playing  havoc  around  me,  but  I 
felt  no  fear,  only  excitement.  Several  times  I  had  faced  death 
on  a  sick-bed  and  was  told  that  my  hours  were  limited,  yet  I 
quailed  not.  Once  I  was  covered  with  two  rifles,  held  with 
their  muzzles  touching  my  f\ice,  but  I  experienced  no  fear. 
Now  my  hair  stood  on  end,  and  each  fibre  seemed  to  be  a 
conductor,  and  a  thousand  sharp,  stinging  sensations  went 
through  my  brain  and  my  body.  My  heart  almost  stopped 
and  1  felt  faint.  The  spirit  extended  his  hand  to  me.  Not 
for  all  the  millions  of  the  Vanderbilts  and  Astors  combined 
would  I  touch  it,  but  it  reached  out  and  took  mine.  At  once 
the  sensation  of  fear  was  gone,  a  calm  came  over  ray  senses, 
and  my  brain  was  clear  as  a  bell.  Now  was  the  opportunity 
presented  to  obtain  valuable  information  on  many  points  about 


ILIAN  IN  A   NEW  ROLE.  323 

this  life  and  the  next.  He  could  clear  up  the  mystery  of  his 
family  and  of  Ilian's  birth.  But  how  could  he  commuiiicate 
all  this?  Not  by  the  sound  of  the  human  voice.  Perhaps 
by  affinity  of  mind  with  mind,  soul  with  soul.  For  a  moment 
he  looked  at  me,  and  then  I  was  aware  of  the  uttering  of  a 
sentence.     By  what  process  I  could  not  define.     It  was  this : 

"  Ilian  is  coming  to  meet  you  here  to-night ;  there  is  her 
carriage." 

I  looked  in  the  direction  pointed  and  beheld  a  coupe  that 
stopped  two  blocks  off;  and,  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  near  it, 
I  saw  a  woman  closely  veiled  get  out  and  come  towards  me. 
I  turned  to  ask  the  form  at  my  side  who  it  was,  but  it  was 
gone  and  I  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ILIAN    IN   A   NEW   ROLE. 

The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  satisfy  myself  that  I  was  wide 
awake  and  not  dreaming.  If  I  had  any  lingering  doubts  oa 
the  latter  point,  I  was  destined  to  be  convinced  that  the  woman 
coming  towards  me  was  not  a  vague,  shadowy  form  of  dream- 
land, but  a  living  specimen  of  the  gentle  sex.  I  was  standing 
close  by  the  railing  of  the  church,  and  she  did  not  see  me  till 
within  five  feet,  when  I  surprised  her  by  saying, — 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Mordiue.  I  suppose  you  prefer  to  be 
called  by  that  name." 

"  Who  are  you;  and  how  do  you  know  my  name?"  she 
demanded. 

"  I  am  one,"  said  I,  "  who  knows  your  history  back  to  the 
hour  of  your  birth. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  favor  me  by  telling  me  who  you  are, 
and  what  you  are  doing  at  this  place  at  this  hour  ?" 

"  This  is  the  15th  of  November,  and  the  anniversary  of  two 
events, — one,  that  of  the  curse  pronounced  by  your  mother 
against  Professor  Homerand,  your  father,  to  take  effect  when 
he  failed  to  fulfil  his  promise  of  marrying  her  and  should 


324:  ILIAN. 

marry  her  rival,  Martha  Rathmine,  instead.  The  other  event 
is  that  of  the  birthday  of  your  husband  and  half-brother, 
Adrien  Homerand,  whom  I  attended  in  his  dying  hour  and  con- 
signed to  his  fathomless  grave  far  out  at  sea." 

At  this  point  the  woman  before  me  threw  up  her  veil  and 
revealed  the  face  of  the  loveliest  being  that  I  had  ever  seen  in 
mortal  shape.  There  was  no  mistaking  her ;  it  was  indeed 
Ilian.  I  had  hunted  her  for  months  all  over  Europe,  and  now 
unexpectedly  she  was  before  me. 

"  Why  do  you  call  Professor  Homerand  my  father,  and 
Adrien  my  half-brother?"  she  cried.     "  It  is  utterly  false." 

"  No,  it  is  not,"  1  replied.  "  I  saw  the  records  in  the 
parish  church  in  a  town  in  the  South  of  England." 

"I  repeat,  it  is  false,  and  a  base  libel,"  she  vehemently 
declared.  "  I  demand  instant  retraction,  or  I  will  kill  you 
where  you  stand." 

She  grasped  my  overcoat,  which  was  buttoned  up  to  the 
throat,  and  in  her  excitement  tore  it  from  the  first  to  the 
second  button. 

"  I  am  telling  you  the  truth,"  I  replied.  "  It  is  well  that 
you  should  know  it."  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  blazing  with 
a  dangerous  excitement,  and  I  tried  to  calm  her.  "  Do  not 
get  excited.  If  you  talk  so  loud  the  police  will  come  and 
arrest  us  both,  and  we  will  cut  a  ridiculous  figure  in  the  poUce- 
court  to-morrow." 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  police,  or  any  one  else,"  said  she. 
"  You  shall  take  back  that  slander  on  my  mother's  fair  name  or  I 
will  plunge  this  into  your  heart." 

As  she  said  this  she  put  her  hand  to  her  hair  and  drew 
what  I  thought  was  a  dagger  hair-pin,  but  its  slender  point 
was  burnished  steel,  and  she  held  it  over  my  breast.  This  was 
getting  to  be  a  very  serious  matter.  A  few  minutes  before  I 
had  felt  that  I  would  rather  see  twenty  living  persons  than  one 
spirit,  but  now  I  changed  my  mind.  Spirits  did  not  raise  fine 
poniards  over  one's  head  and  tear  his  coat.  What  should  I 
do  ?  If  it  had  been  a  man  that  I  was  dealing  with  I  would 
have  struck  out  straight  from  the  shoulder,  but  I  would  not 
touch  a  woman,  even  though  she  did  threaten  my  life.  No, 
I  must  adopt  other  tactics.     So  I  said,  calmly, — 

'■'■  What  would  be  the  use  of  telling  you  anything  but  the 
strict  truth  ?    Adrien  on  his  death-bed  gave  me  all  his  private 


ILIAN  IN  A   NEW  ROLE.  325 

papers,  and  an  order  for  his  father's  records  and  his  dealings 
with  Miss  Helen  Claymuire,  j'our  sainted  mother,  who  after- 
wards married  in  England." 

"  My  mother  married  Mr.  Mordine  and  died  in  giving  me 
birth,"  she  sturdily  replied  to  me. 

"  No,  that  was  your  mother's  only  sister,  Eleanor,  and  she 
died  five  months  after  her  marriage.  Your  mother  married 
Mr.  Verdere  when  you  were  twenty-six  months  old.  Her  hus- 
band was  sixty-five  years  of  age,  and  died  three  years  after  his 
marriage.  Your  mother  brought  you  up  as  her  niece  and 
gave  you  the  name  of  her  sister's  husband." 

"  I  do  not  believe  one  word  of  this,"  Ilian  answered  ;  "  and 
I  demand  your  authority  for  this  statement  which  you  have 
made." 

"  I  have  told  you  already  that  I  read  the  record  in  the 
parish  church  register  in  the  South  of  England,  where  your 
mother  and  her  sister  went  to  live  after  your  birth." 

"  Where  was  this  place  to  which  you  refer  ?"  she  demanded. 

I  told  her,  and  advised  her  to  go  and  see  for  herself. 

"  It  may  have  been  a  false  account,"  said  she. 

"Not  likely,"  said  1;  "and,  besides,  I  saw  at  Preston 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Brown,  who  performed  the  marriage  ceremony 
for  your  mother  and  your  aunt.  He  also  officiated  at  the 
funeral  of  the  latter  and  of  Mr.  Verdere,  and  baptized  you 
under  the  name  of  Ilian  Homer.  They  told  him  that  your 
mother  had  died  in  giving  birth  to  you,  and  that  your  father 
was  a  great  American  professor,  and  had  left  you  in  their 
care." 

"  I  know  that  my  mother  died  in  giving  me  birth,"  per- 
sisted Ilian. 

"  She  did  not.  Your  mother  was  not  Mrs.  Mordine,  and 
you  know  that  Mrs.  Verdere  brought  you  up  as  her  niece. 
Who  then  was  your  father,  if  it  was  not  Professor  Homerand, 
and  who  your  mother,  except  Helen  Claymuire  ?  The  prob- 
lem is  not  difficult  to  solve." 

For  a  moment  Ilian  seemed  to  be  in  a  quandary ;  she  still 
held  my  coat  with  one  hand  and  that  keen  little  dagger  in  the 
other.     Then  she  spoke  fiercely, — 

"  You  make  me  out  a  child  of  shame,  and  I  will  avenge 
the  insult  on  the  dead.  You  must  swear  never  to  repeat  this 
libel." 

28 


326  ILIAN. 

I  had  already  become  tired  of  the  controversy  and  made  up 
my  mind  to  adopt  naval  tactics ;  when,  for  obvious  reasons, 
you  do  not  wish  to  give  battle  to  the  enemy,  then  you  must 
make  sail  and  get  out  of  the  way.  Most  men  do  not  object 
when  a  handsome  little  woman  holds  them  by  their  coat,  nor 
would  they  mind  a  scratch  from  a  hair-pin  ;  nevertheless, 
although  this  hair-pin  held  over  my  head  was  a  small  aflFair, 
yet  if  it  entered  my  heart  it  would  be  a  serious  matter.  I 
formed  my  plan  of  action  at  once  and  put  it  into  operation.  I 
raised  my  umbrella,  inserting  the  point  of  it  in  the  iron  rail- 
ing of  the  church,  and,  holding  it  in  a  horizontal  position, 
said, — 

"  Now,  Miss  Mordine,  I  wish  to  have  a  barrier  between  us, 
because  you  are  too  much  excited." 

I  held  the  handle  towards  her,  and  she  let  go  my  coat  and 
took  the  umbrella.  This  was  my  chance.  At  once  I  hurried 
away  up  Washington  Street  at  a  speed  of  at  least  ten  miles 
an  hour.  I  turned  the  first  corner  to  the  left,  and  as  I  did  so 
I  perceived  that  I  had  gained  a  hundred  feet,  for  she  had 
pulled  the  umbrella  out  of  the  railing  and  started  after  me. 
I  soon  observed  that  I  was  rapidly  leaving  her  far  behind. 
Her  close-fitting  garments  prevented  free  locomotion.  I  turned 
half  a  dozen  corners  and  came  to  a  building  with  a  large  open 
porch  and  a  pillar  on  each  side.  There  I  took  refuge  and  got 
behind  the  column.  In  a  minute  after  I  saw  a  flying  cloud 
of  feminine  apparel  go  by  like  a  whirlwind. 

I  put  my  head  out  to  survey  the  scene.  She  had  stopped 
at  the  corner  and  was  looking  in  all  directions.  She  now  re- 
traced her  steps  and  came  to  the  building  where  I  was.  I 
shifted  over  to  the  opposite  pillar;  was  just  in  time.  Ilian 
came  up  and  looked  into  the  porch  and  then  thrust  the  cap- 
tured umbrella  behind  the  column.  At  this  moment  she  was 
interrupted  by  a  gruff  voice  asking  her  what  she  was  doing. 
A  burly  private  watchman  was  at  her  side.  She  told  him 
that  a  man  had  insulted  her  just  as  she  had  stepped  out  of 
her  carriage,  that  she  had  chased  him  to  this  point,  and  if  he 
could  be  found  she  would  give  a  reward  of  one  hundred  dollars. 

"  All  right,  mam,"  was  his  answer  ;   "  I  will  help  you." 

I  thought  to  myself  that  I  would  like  it  if  that  off"er  should 
be  held  up  to  competition.  I  would  give  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  if  he  did  not  find  me. 


ILIAN  IN  A   NEW  ROLE.  327 

"  I  saw  a  man  walking  very  fast  in  a  side  street  just  a 
moment  ago,"  the  watchman  remarked. 

"  Had  he  an  umbrella  in  his  hand?" 

"  No,  he  had  not." 

"  Tall  and  rather  stout,  and  dark  clothes  on  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  that  was  about  his  style." 

"  Then  let  us  follow  him." 

Away  they  went,  and  when  the  coast  was  clear,  I  went  also. 
The  rain  began  to  come  down,  but  I  walked  fast  and  suddenly 
ran  up  against  a  policeman,  who  said, — 

"  You  are  in  a  mighty  big  hurry,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me 
what  you  are  doing  out  so  late  on  a  night  like  this?" 

"  I  have  been  to  a  reception,"  I  answered.  "  Some  one 
took  my  umbrella  and  I  am  now  hastening  to  my  hotel,  the 
Tremont  House.     Can  you  tell  me  the  shortest  way  ?" 

The  name  of  this  well-known  Boston  caravansary  was  a 
sufficient  guarantee  to  him  for  my  respectability.  The  way 
was  pointed  out  to  me,  and  I  gave  him  half  a  dollar  to  drink 
my  health.  In  a  few  minutes  I  had  reached  my  destination. 
As  I  entered  the  porch  I  took  off  my  overcoat,  for  if  the 
night-clerk  should  see  it  covered  with  mud  and  torn,  he  might 
suspect  that  I  had  been  in  conflict  with  the  police. 

"  Rather  late,"  be  remarked,  as  he  handed  me  my  key. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  I  am  glad  to  get  back.  Call  me  at 
six  in  the  morning." 

When  I  got  to  my  room  I  locked  the  door  carefully,  and 
looked  under  the  bed,  a  thing  that  I  rarely  do.  I  was  resolved 
to  make  sure  that  there  were  no  more  spirits  around.  I  could 
not  sleep  for  some  time  ;  I  was  restless  ;  and  when  1  did  my 
dreams  were  very  unpleasant.  It  was  war-time  again,  and  I 
was  out  on  picket-duty  alone  and  far  away  from  my  boat's 
crew.  I  heard  the  deep  baying  of  two  bloodhounds,  and  ran 
down  an  avenue  lined  with  trees.  At  the  end  was  a  large 
gate.  If  I  could  reach  it  I  was  safe.  I  heard  the  labored 
panting  of  my  fleet-footed  pursuers.  I  reached  the  gate  and 
at  one  bound  I  was  on  the  top.  The  baffled  brutes  threw 
their  whole  weight  upon  it,  but  it  held  firm.  The  next 
moment  I  was  on  the  ground,  and  soon  reached  my  boat. 

Again  I  dreamed  of  the  war.  Admiral  Porter  gave  me 
orders  to  obtain  certain  information  about  the  Confederate 
ironclads  in  the  James  River  below  Richmond.     I  was  to  go 


328  ILIAX. 

in  uniform,  so  that  in  case  I  was  captured  I  would  not  be 
hung  up  for  a  spy.  I  had  neglected  these  precautions  and 
went  in  a  black  coat  and  Derby  hat.  I  obtained  the  coveted 
facts,  all  that  was  wanted,  and  was  hastening  back,  but  lost 
my  way.  Suddenly  I  heard  the  tramp  of  armed  men,  and 
the  cry, — 

"  There  is  a  Yankee  spy,  kill  him  !" 

I  ran  as  fast  as  I  was  able,  but  found  my  way  barred  by  a 
breastwork  of  pointed  stakes.  I  was  at  bay.  I  could  not  dis- 
cover the  inlet  into  our  lines.  A  Confederate  officer  with  a 
dozen  of  his  soldiers  confronted  me  and  demanded  my  instant 
surrender.  I  refused,  and,  raising  my  revolver,  shot  the  officer. 
A  sergeant  now  stepped  up  and  raised  a  rifle,  but  before  he 
could  fire,  I  shot  him  also.  The  next  moment  a  circle  of 
bayonets  was  around  ray  neck  and  the  stern  command  given 
to  surrender.  Then  came  a  loud  knocking,  and  I  heard  a 
voice,  saying, — 

"  Six  o'clock,  sir." 

I  sprang  from  my  bed  and  placed  myself  in  an  attitude  of 
defence.  The  Confederate  soldiers  were  gone.  I  looked  at 
my  feet  for  the  men  I  had  shot,  but  there  was  nothing  ;  it  was 
but  a  dream.  Slowly  the  recollection  of  the  past  evening 
came  back. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  I  had  dreamed  it.  If  one  experience  was 
a  dream,  why  not  the  other?  I  looked  at  my  clothes,  they 
were  bespattered  all  over  with  mud  and  my  overcoat  was 
badly  torn.  Then,  again,  what  was  T  doing  away  from  home? 
No,  I  was  certain  that  the  midnight  affair  was  no  play  on  my 
imagination.  How  could  I  account  for  it?  What  prompted 
Ilian  to  come  ?  What  a  strong  grasp  that  girl  had  in  her 
dainty  wrists,  and  how  rapidly  she  could  make  her  way  over 
the  ground ! 

I  brushed  the  mud  off  my  clothes,  pinned  up  my  overcoat 
where  it  was  torn,  and,  after  a  hearty  breakfast,  I  left  the 
Tremont  House  and  took  the  early  train  for  New  York  and 
Philadelphia,  arriving  safely  at  half- past  eight  the  same 
evening. 

I  was  glad  to  get  home  once  more. 


A   DBA  WING-ROOM  IN  FIFTH  AVENUE.       329 
CHAPTER  ly. 

A   DRAWING-ROOM    IN   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

Two  months  had  passed.  I  had  heard  nothing  about  Ilian, 
and,  in  fact,  I  did  not  seek  for  any  news  of  her.  I  received 
a  letter  from  Dr.  Rechard  in  answer  to  one  of  mine  givinp; 
me  certain  information  about  the  history  of  the  Homerand 
fiimily.  One  morning  as  I  came  down  to  my  breakfast  I 
found  several  letters.  One  was  in  a  strange  handwriting, 
evidently  from  a  woman,  and  postmarked  "  New  York  City." 
I  wondered  from  whom  it  could  come ;  examined  the  enve- 
lope carefully,  and  finally  came  to  the  wise  conclusion  that 
the  best  way  to  find  out  was  to  open  it.  I  did  so,  and,  to  my 
amazement,  saw  that  it  was  signed  "  Ilian." 

Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  January  18. 

My  DEAR  Chaplain, — I  owe  you  an  apology  for  my 
conduct  when  I  met  you  last  November  under  the  shadow  of 
the  old  South  Church.  The  information  which  you  gave  was 
to  me  of  such  a  startling  nature,  revolutionizing  all  my  past 
history  that,  for  the  time  being,  I  was  not  only  excited  but 
unreasonable  in  my  anger.  I  determined  to  go  over  to  Eng- 
land and  find  out  for  myself  the  true  state  of  afi"airs.  I  left 
New  York  for  Liverpool  by  the  Cunard  line  on  the  20th  of 
November.  Arriving  at  Liverpool  on  the  30th.  That  same 
evening  I  was  in  Preston  and  saw  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brown.  I 
told  him  candidly  who  I  was,  and  obtained  full  particulars  of 
all  that  he  knew.  The  next  day  I  went  to  the  town  which 
you  had  designated  in  the  South  of  England  and  read  for 
myself  the  record  in  the  books  of  the  parish  church.  It  is 
needless  for  me  to  say  that  I  was  convinced  that  Mrs.  Mor- 
dine  was  not  my  mother,  and  I  have  only  the  inference  that 
Mrs.  Verdere  was  the  author  of  my  being.  There  is  no  record 
of  this  fact,  only  a  surmise,  based,  perhaps,  upon  circumstan- 
tial evidence. 

You  made  the  assertion  that  Professor  Homerand  was  my 
father.  What  legitimate  proof  have  you  to  back  up  this  state- 
ment ?  I  mean  evidence  that  would  stand  the  severe  scrutiny  of 

28* 


330  ILIAN. 

a  court  of  law.  Among  the  papers  of  the  late  Professor  Home- 
rand  in  your  possession,  have  you  any  that  would  prove  im- 
proper relations  between  him  and  my  late  so-called  aunt,  Mrs. 
Verdere,  formerly  Helen  Claymuire  ?  If  you  have,  will  you 
bring  them  with  you  and  come  and  see  me  here  at  the  house 
of  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Rendeem  ?  I  am  anxious  that  this  mys- 
tery should  be  cleared  -up.  I  will  cheerfully  pay  all  expenses 
incurred.  Please  reply  by  return  mail,  and  tell  me  what  day 
"will  be  convenient  for  you  to  come  to  this  city. 

I  feel  assured  that  for  the  sake  of  the  love  you  bore  to 
Adrien  you  will  do  this  for  me.  You  did  not  give  me  your 
name  the  night  that  I  met  you,  but  when  you  told  me  that  you 
attended  my  husband  at  the  hour  of  his  death,  I  knew  at  ouce 
who  you  were.  I  returned  from  England  yesterday  and 
learned  your  place  of  residence  from  Edith  Rendeem.  I  close 
with  expressions  of  regret  and  sorrow  if  I  caused  you  any  an- 
noyance and  trouble  that  stormy  night;  and,  by  the  way, 
I  am  very  curious  to  know  how  you  came  to  be  there  on  that 
particular  occasion. 

I  remain  the  wife  of  your  old  friend, 

Ilian. 

I  replied  to  this  letter  at  once,  and  made  the  appointment 
for  three  o'clock  two  days  later.  I  took  with  me  a  number  of 
letters  written  by  Helen  Claymuire  to  the  professor, — among 
them  the  one  which  is  found  in  the  opening  chapter  of  this 
narrative ;  also  his  confession  of  certain  facts  to  Adrien  in 
Paris.  I  was  at  the  Rendeem  mansion  in  Fifth  Avenue 
promptly  at  the  time  appointed,  and  found  Ilian  waiting  for  me 
in  the  drawing-room.  Her  cousin,  she  told  me,  had  gone  out,  so 
that  we  could  have  a  strictly  private  convei-sation.  Her  manner 
was  cordial  in  the  extreme,  and  we  had  a  hearty  laugh  over  the 
stratagem  which.  I  adopted  to  get  away  from  her  when  we  were 
under  the  shadow  of  the  old  South  Church.  She  told  me  the  full 
particulars  of  her  last  trip  to  England,  but  she  had  no  new  in- 
formation. She  asked  me  for  the  letters  and  papers  that  would 
throw  light  upon  her  parentage.  I  handed  them  to  her  and 
remarked  that  it  would  be  best  to  defer  reading  them  till  alone 
in  the  privacy  of  her  apartment. 

As  I  looked  at  her  and  tried  to  study  her  features,  I  was 
charmed  by  her  beauty ;  her  forehead  was  high,  her  blue  eyes 


A   DRAWING-ROOM  IN  FIFTH  AVENUE.       331 

in  repose  looked  as  loving  and  gentle  as  a  little  child's,  and 
she  was  without  exception  the  most  talented  woman  to  whom 
I  had  ever  spoken.  Her  executive  abilities  had  been  fully- 
tested  during  the  late  war.  She  looked  in  appearance  about 
twenty-five,  although  I  knew  she  must  be  nearer  forty.  Her 
voice  had  a  soft  ring  in  it  that  left  an  echo  behind  not 
easily  forgotten.  Was  it  possible  that  this  woman  was  once 
the  great  Confederate  spy, — the  leader  and  the  brain,  if  I  may 
so  express  it,  of  that  grand  system  of  secret  service  by  which 
all  of  the  Federal  movements  were  promptly  made  known  in 
Richmond  and  provided  against  ?  She  was  now  calm  and  un- 
ruffled as  a  lake  in  the  summer  season,  but  I  knew  that  when 
aroused  she  could  become  the  impersonation  of  the  mytho- 
logical Pallas-Athena  in  her  periods  of  wrath. 

We  spoke  of  Adrien  and  his  unhappy  end,  then  of  the 
curse,  and  how  it  was  fulfilled. 

"  Oh,  to  think,"  she  replied,  "  that  Mrs.  Verdere  could  be 
so  vindictive;  and  perhaps  she  was  my  mother." 

"  There  is  not  a  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind,"  I  replied.  "  After 
you  have  read  those  letters  which  you  have  in  your  hand,  I 
think  that  you  will  also  be  convinced." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  accepting  that  theory,"  said  she. 
"  She  was  so  loving,  gentle,  and  kind,  and  she  left  me  sole 
heiress  of  all  of  her  fortune;  yet  I  cannot  and  will  not  acquiesce 
in  the  inference  that  Professor  Homerand  was  my  father." 

At  this  point  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  walked  the  floor 
of  the  drawing-room  in  her  growing  excitement.  I  saw  that 
a  storm  was  gathering,  and  looked  around  for  a  line  of  retreat. 
It  burst  upon  me,  however,  before  I  was  well  aware  of  it. 
Coming  up  to  me,  there  glowed  a  dangerous  fire  in  her 
beautiful  eyes.  Speaking  in  a  low,  determined  tone,  she 
said, — 

"  Chaplain,  I  would  rather  die  than  feel  that  I  was  the 
daughter  of  Professor  Homerand.  Not  but  that  if  my  mother 
had  been  legally  married  to  him  I  would  have  been  proud  of 
his  grand  record,  but  I  cannot  feel  that  I  am  the  oflPspring  of 
illicit  passion.  Never  will  I  endure  even  the  thought,  much 
less  the  mention,  of  the  fact ;  and  I  will  take  the  life  of  any- 
one who  dares  to  insinuate  it." 

I  had  noticed  in  the  large  coils  of  her  golden  hair  what  I 
thought  was  a  jewelled  hair-pin  of  large  size  with  a  cross  handle 


332  ILIAN. 

richly  studded  with  sparkling  stones.  She  put  her  hand  up 
to  her  head  and  took  this  out  of  her  hair,  and  drew  from  a 
slender  sheath  a  highly-polished,  tiny,  steel  dagger  with  a  blade 
six  inches  long,  and,  bringing  the  point  over  my  breast,  she 
continued  in  cold,  hard  tones, — 

"  I  want  you  to  swear  that  you  will  never  mention  these 
facts  to  any  human  being  again.  If  you  do  not,  I  will  send 
the  keen  point  of  this  steel  through  your  heart.  Do  you 
swear  ?" 

This  was  a  phase  of  our  interview  unlooked  for.  I  recognized 
the  poniard  as  the  same  one  which  she  had  used  last  Novem- 
ber, when  I  so  unceremoniously  left  her.  That,  however,  was 
a  dark  night.  I  did  not  propose  to  repeat  those  tactics  again. 
Besides,  for  me  to  run  down  Fifth  Avenue  with  a  handsome 
woman  in  pursuit,  dagger  in  hand,  would  not  be  a  dignified 
proceeding.  It  might  be  sport  for  the  boys,  but  not  for  me. 
I  had  taken  an  oath  to  Adrien  that  I  would  publish  all  the 
facts  in  the  case,  and  I  now  refused  to  bind  myself  to  any 
other  promise. 

I  had  read  that  wild  animals  can  be  subdued  by  the  fixed 
gaze  of  the  human  eye.  I  resolved  to  try  the  eflfect  on  the 
infuriated  woman  before  me.  I  was  well  aware  that  Ilian  her- 
self was  a  magnetic  power  of  the  first  order,  and  that  it  was  a 
question  now  which  of  us  had  the  strongest  will.  I  looked 
full  into  her  glowing  eyes  and  answered  nothing.  A  moment 
later  she  said  in  a  wavering  voice, — 

"  Do  you  swear?" 

"  Throw  down  that  toy !"  I  commanded  her. 

"  You  must  first  swear  to  do  what  I  ask,"  said  she. 

"  Do  you  hear  me  ?"  I  continued.  "  Throw  it  down  !"  and 
I  brought  my  eyes  close  to  hers.  I  saw  her  hesitate,  and  then 
she  let  go  the  dangerous  hair-pin,  which  fell  at  my  feet.  She 
sat  down  in  a  large  chair  and  began  to  weep.  A  woman's 
tears  have  at  all  times  a  mighty  influence  over  men.  I  was 
not  angry  in  the  least,  but  objected  to  any  experiment  of  that 
hair-pin  around  the  region  of  my  heart. 

"  I  think  you  are  awful  mean,"  she  said,  in  a  child-like  tone 
of  voice. 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  said  I ;  "  but  you  will  have  enough  to 
answer  for  at  the  rendering  of  your  final  account  without 
adding  my  blood  to  increase  the  load.     Please  understand  me 


A   DRAWIXG-ROOM  IN  FIFTH  AVENUE.       333 

once  for  all ;  I  am  not  making  history,  but  only  relating  at 
your  own  request  facts  which  cannot  be  gainsaid." 

"  You  have  nothing  but  inference  for  what  you  state,"  she 
pleaded. 

"•  Yes,  I  have  something  better  than  that." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  full  confession  which  you  are  holding  in  your  hand." 

"  I  tell  you  once  again  I  do  not  and  will  not  believe  it," 
she  said. 

She  rose  up  in  an  instant  from  her  cliair,  and  attempted  to 
pick  up  the  little  dagger.  I  intercepted  this  by  sending  it 
some  twenty  feet  away  with  my  foot. 

''  Miss  Mordine,  I  am  tired  of  this  foolishness,"  said  I. 
"  Twice  you  have  attempted  to  take  my  life.  That  is  the 
same  instrument,  T  believe,  which  you  held  to  Adrien's  throat 
■when  he  was  recovering  from  yellow- fever  and  you  constrained 
him  to  leave  the  Union  navy  and  enter  the  Confederate  ser- 
vice.    I  will  now  remove  a  temptation  from  your  path." 

I  went  to  the  place  where  the  jewelled  pin  lay  on  the  floor, 
and,  kneeling  down  on  one  knee,  I  picked  it  up  and  drove  it 
with  all  my  force  into  the  floor.  It  pierced  through  the  soft 
Wilton  carpet  and  through  a  joint  in  the  flooring  clear  up 
to  the  hilt.  I  then  pressed  my  foot  against  the  handle  and  it 
snapped  off.  I  gave  back  the  jewelled  remnant  to  Ilian  and 
told  her  that  if  she  had  this  part  fixed  on  to  the  sheath,  she 
would  still  have  a  beautiful  hair-pin,  but  the  sting  would  be 
gone. 

"  How  can  I  live,"  she  replied,  "  with  the  uncertainty  of 
my  birth  always  before  me?" 

"  We  may  be  able  to  find  the  missing  link,"  said  I.  "  Have 
you  searched  carefully  all  of  the  papers  left  by  Mrs.  Verdere." 

"  I  have,"  said  she.  "  There  is  none  to  throw  light  on  the 
subject." 

'•  By  the  way,  let  me  ask  you,  have  you  among  3'our  things 
a  cash-box  of  black  japanned  tin  with  two  locks  and  two  gold 
bands  painted  around  it  ?  The  reason  why  I  make  this  in- 
quiry is,  that  I  have  a  letter  from  Miss  Helen  Claymuire  ac- 
knowledging the  receipt  of  a  box  sent  to  her  by  Professor 
Homeraud  to  keep  her  papers  in,  and  I  also  have  a  receipt 
from  the  maker  of  the  box.  There  were  two  of  them,  and 
they  were  made  in  1840." 


334  ILIAN. 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  box  of  that  description,"  she  answered.  "  I 
keep  my  aunt's  papers  in  it.      What  of  it  ?" 

''  Much,"  I  replied.  "  Are  you  aware  that  the  box  which 
Adrien  gave  me  has  a  f\dse  bottom,  and  inside  of  it  I  found 
the  important  letters  that  I  have  given  you  ?  Bring  me  your 
box ;  it  may  have  a  false  bottom  also." 

Ilian  went  to. her  room  and  returned  in  a  minute  with  a  tin 
box  the  exact  mate  of  the  one  that  I  had.  When  it  was 
opened  I  took  out  all  the  papers  and  inserted  the  blade  of 
my  knife  under  one  of  the  locks.  Pressing  a  spring  hidden 
under  the  velvet  lining,  the  false  bottom  flew  up,  revealing  a 
bundle  of  papers  tied  with  red  ribbon. 

"  These  are  the  missing  links  !"  I  exclaimed,  triumphantly. 

'•  Do  not  touch  them,"  said  Ilian.  "  That  is  my  sole  privi- 
lege.  There  may  be  secrets  that  I  would  not  want  any  one 
else  to  know.  I  will  read  them  over  carefully  in  my  cham- 
ber, and  also  the  papers  which  you  have  given  me.  Come 
here  at  two  o'clock  to-morrow  and  I  will  tell  you  the  result. 
I  promise  that  I  will  be  perfectly  candid  with  you,  and  keep 
back  nothing  that  you  have  a  right  to  know." 

I  arose  from  my  chair  to  take  my  departure,  extending  my 
hand  to  say  good-by.  She  took  it  in  both  of  hers  and,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  said, — 

"  My  dear  chaplain,  can  you  forget  and  forgive  my  breach 
of  hospitality  and  my  threatening  attempt  upon  you  ?  I 
would  not  have  harmed  you  in  any  way  for  the  world ;  but  I 
was  terribly  excited.  I  have  suffered  so  much  in  the  last 
twenty  years  that  I  have  not  that  full  control  of  my  temper 
which  I  once  had." 

"  Think  no  more  of  it,  Miss  Mordine,"  said  I ;  "you  did 
me  no  harm,  and  I  feel  sorry  that  I  broke  that  hair-pin,  but 
its  sting  might  be  dangerous  and  its  beauty  is  not  lost." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  did  break  it,  but  I  wish  to  ask  a  favor 
which  I  will  esteem  as  a  boon." 

"  Your  slightest  wish  will  be  law  to  me." 
•     "  I  wish  that  you  will  not  call  me  Miss  Mordine." 

"  Do  you  prefer  the  name  of  Homerand  ?" 

"No,  not  altogether;  but  I  want  you  hereafter  to  call  me 
Ilian." 

"  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure.  Ilian,  au  revoir  until  to- 
morrow afternoon."     And  I  left  the  house. 


MISSING  LINKS.  335 


CHAPTER  V. 

MISSING    LINKS. 

At  the  hour  specified  on  the  following  day  I  rang  the  bell 
at  the  stately  mansion  of  Joseph  Rendeem,  the  merchant 
prince.  A  liveried  servant  ushered  me  into  the  handsomely- 
furnished  drawing-room.  There  I  found  Miss  Edith  Ren- 
deem, who  informed  me  that  Ilian  had  gone  to  her  banker's, 
but  would  be  back  shortly.  In  the  mean  time  Miss  Edith 
said  she  would  herself  do  the  best  she  could  to  entertain  me. 
Although  I  had  only  known  her  a  short  time,  yet  we  were 
great  friends.  She  was  one  of  those  rare  women,  who,  if 
they  like  you,  can  make  you  so  perfectly  at  home  that  you 
feel  as  though  you  had  known  them  all  your  life. 

Miss  Edith  had  a  small  weakness,  however.  She  did  not 
relish  the  fact  that  the  years  were  rolling  up  their  record 
against  her.  She  was  but  three  years  younger  than  Ilian, 
but  would  never  admit  the  nearness  of  age.  As  a  rule,  when 
the  war  was  the  subject  of  conversation,  she  invariably  re- 
plied that  she  was  very  young  when  it  took  place,  and  that 
really  she  could  hardly  be  expected  to  remember  much  about 
it.  It  was  only  when  her  noble  war-record  in  the  service  of 
the  Christian  Commission  was  referred  to  in  glowing  terms, 
that  she  forgot  her  weak  point.  She  would  then  enter  with 
enthusiasm  into  all  that  related  to  the  service  among  the  sick 
and  wounded  soldiers.  I  was  well  aware  of  these  points,  and 
occasionally  teased  her  on  the  subject.  I  found  her  in  excel- 
lent good  humor,  and  so  opened  the  attack. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  naval  officers  who  attended  the 
party  given  in  this  house  in  August  of  1861,  when  Adrien 
Homerand  first  met  Ilian  ?" 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?"  she  asked.  "  You 
know  that  I  was  very  young  at  the  time." 

"  Ah,  yes,  that  is  true,"  I  replied.  "  You  were  but  a  child 
of  twenty,  wearing  short  dresses,  and  never  went  out  except 
in  charge  of  your  nurse." 


336  ILIAX. 

"  Oh,  you  horrid  man,  why  did  you  not  ask  if  I  was  twenty 
on  my  last  birthday  ?" 

"  1  certainly  would  if  I.  did  not  know  you  so  well ;  but 
really  your  beautiful  face  never  seems  to  lose  its  juvenile 
freshness." 

"  Now,  my  dear  chaplain,  you  talk  like  a  sensible  specimen 
of  the  genus  homoy 

"  Is  your  mother  named  Edith  ?"  I  asked. 

"No.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because  I  read  the  other  day  in  the  record  of  the  Chris- 
tian Commission  a  glowing  tribute  of  the  zealous  and  self- 
denying  work  performed  by  Miss  Edith  Rendeem,  and  as  you 
were  but  a  child,  then  it  could  not  be  you." 

"  Why  not?     Cannot  children  work?"' 

"  Oh,  then  you  were  the  heroine,"  I  replied.  "  I  am  proud 
to  know  you.  Now,  seriously,  I  love  to  hear  about  the  Chris- 
tian Commission.     Tell  me  some  of  your  own  experience." 

"  Do  you  desire  me  to  give  you  a  chapter  from  ancient 
history?" 

"  No ;  because  you  are  yet  too  young  to  go  very  far  back. 
Tell  me,  however,  what  progress  you  have  made  in  your  medi- 
cal studies  ?" 

"  I  received  a  degree  from  a  medical  college  in  this  city. 
My  father,  however,  objects  to  my  receiving  any  compensation 
for  professional  service.  He  says  that  he  will  leave  me  half  a 
million  when  he  dies  ;  and  asks  why  should  I  trouble  myself 
about  pills  and  noxious  compounds.  He  tells  me  that  I  can 
practise  on  him  and  on  my  mother  and  also  on  my  brother 
John.  My  sister  Alice  always  sends  for  me  when  her  children 
are  ailing,  but  I  desire  scope  for  my  talents." 

"Why  not  marry  some  good  doctor?"  I  asked.  "Then 
you  can  be  a  helpmate  and  a  pearl  of  great  price." 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  never  to  marry,"  she  replied. 
"  I  am  too  much  in  love  with  the  study  of  medicine  to  spend 
my  time  at  the  humoring  of  a  husband." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  go  into  partnership  with  some  old  doctor, 
and  you  will  find  all  the  opportunity  you  can  desire." 

"  I  will  think  over  your  advice,"  said  she  ;  "  and  now  let  me 
tell  you  something.  Do  you  know  that  my  brother  John  is 
jealous  of  you?  He  had  an  appointment  out  this  evening, 
but  when  he  heard  that  liian  had  invited  you  to  dinner  to-day, 


MISSING  LINKS.  337 

he  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  at  home  in  order  to  do  honor  to 
our  guest,  as  he  expressed  it,  but  really  to  watch  you.  So  be 
on  your  guard." 

"  Jealous  of  me  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  I  am  not  in  the  market 
at  present.  If  I  was  I  would  not  go  any  farther  than  the  fair 
daughter  of  this  house.  Do  you  know  that  I  think  it  would 
be  a  splendid  thing  to  have  a  wife  that  was  a  doctor  ?  She 
would  save  lots  of  medical  bills.  You  would  make  a  fortune 
in  your  practice  of  medicine  by  making  a  specialty  of  heart- 
disease.  All  the  young  men,  and  old  ones,  too,  would  need 
their  hearts  to  be  examined  quite  often  ;  not  at  all  a  bad  idea 
to  have  a  dainty  head  with  her  ear  close  to  your  heart  and 
then  feel  your  pulse  and  look  at  your  tongue.  Will  you  not 
prescribe  for  me  ?  I  ate  too  much  dinner  last  evening  and  am 
suffering  from  indigestion." 

"  Certainly ;  I  will  give  you  a  remedy  to  follow  when  you 
return  to  your  hotel  this  evening,"  she  replied.  "  Walk  six 
times  around  Union  Square,  and  if  you  do  not  feel  better, 
repeat  the  dose.  Here  comes  Ilian.  You  will  not  have  much 
time  for  your  business  talk.  John  will  be  home  at  five  o'clock. 
I  will  leave  you  now."  As  she  went  out  I  thought  what  a 
perfect  jewel  of  a  wife  she  would  make  for  some  man. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  kept  you  waiting,"  was  Ilian's  greet- 
ing;  "  but  my  banker  sent  me  a  note  desiring  to  see  me 
on  important  business.  I  have  read  all  the  papers  that  you 
gave  me  and  also  all  that  I  found  in  the  secret  bottom  of  the 
tin  box." 

"  What  is  the  result  ?"  I  asked. 
"  Your  surmise  was  correct,"  said  she. 
"Then   Mrs.   Veredere  was   your  mother,  and   Professor 
Homerand  your  father  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  My  mother  left  a  full  record  of 
everything.  I  was  born  in  London  on  the  3d  of  May,  1841. 
I  was  called  Ilian  Homer  at  first,  as  my  mother  had  serious 
thoughts  of  sending  me  as  a  present  to  my  father.  This  she 
hoped  would  disturb  the  harmony  of  his  relations  with  her 
rival,  Martha  Kathmine,  illegally  his  wife,  as  she  claimed. 
Finally,  a  mother's  love  prevailed  over  that  of  revenge,  which, 
as  you  are  aware,  is  the  strongest  passion  of  our  human 
nature  if  allowed  to  develop  its  latent  tendencies.  After  the 
death  of  my  aunt  and  her  husband  I  was  brought  up  as  their 
T        w  29 


838  ILIAN. 

child,  taking  their  name.  This  has  been  a  bitter  revelation  to 
me,  and  life  has  no  longer  the  attraction  that  it  had.  I  shall 
"welcome  death  because  it  will  bring  me  into  the  company  of 
those  dear  ones  whose  relationship  I  did  not  know  when  they 
were  here." 

"  You  take  altogether  too  gloomy  a  view  of  things  in  gen- 
eral," said  I.  "  You  have  the  three  qualifications  that  are 
looked  upon  as  the  acme  of  human  happiness, — viz.,  health, 
beauty,  and  wealth." 

"  I  would  give  half  my  fortune  to-day,"  Ilian  answered, 
"  to  look  upon  my  mother's  marriage-certificate.  It  is  galling 
and  humiliating  in  the  extreme  to  think  that  I  am  a  child  of 
illicit  intercourse.     How  can  I  live  with  such  a  stain  ?" 

"  You  take  a  wrong  view  of  things  in  general  and  blame 
your  dear  mother  for  that  of  which  she  was  not  guilty,"  I 
I'eplied.  "  She  was  solemnly  engaged  to  Professor  Homerand, 
and  he  on  his  part  had  taken  a  binding  oath  to  make  her  his 
wife.  He  called  God  to  witness  this  compact.  This  was  not 
only  by  word  of  mouth,  but  he  confirmed  it  by  his  own  signa- 
ture. In  the  sight  of  God,  therefore,  your  mother  was  the 
true  and  legal  wife  of  Professor  Homerand." 

"  How  about  his  marriage  with  Martha  Rathmine  ?"  she 
inquired. 

"  That  was  an  earthly  marriage  and  could  not  have  the 
sanction  of  heaven.  Besides,  there  is  no  divine  law  that  can 
be  found  in  the  sacred  Scriptures  which  forbids  a  man  to  have 
more  than  one  wife.  It  is  a  legal  enactment  of  a  few  of  the 
nations  of  the  world.  I  say  a  few,  because  the  great  majority 
allow  a  plurality  of  wives.  The  children  of  Israel  are  the 
oifspring  of  the  four  wives  of  Jacob.  Solomon,  the  wisest 
king  that  our  race  has  produced,  was  the  son  of  one  of  the 
numerous  wives  of  David ;  yet  no  one  called  in  question  their 
birth.  The  State  of  New  York  recognizes  the  fact  that  if  a 
man  registers  a  woman  as  his  wife,  then  she  becomes  so  in 
fact,  even  though  a  ceremony  to  that  purpose  may  not  have 
been  performed." 

"  Then  you  honestly  believe  that  my  birth  was  legitimate 
and  without  a  taint?" 

"  In  the  sight  of  our  Creator  I  certainly  do.  The  Scotch 
law  is  emphatic  upon  this  point,  that  where  a  man  puts  on 
paper,  verified  by  his  signature,  a  statement  that  he  agrees  to 


MISSING  LINKS.  339 

take  a  certain  woraau  for  his  true  and  legal  wife,  and  confirms 
it  by  living  with  her,  though  only  for  one  day,  she  is  his  wife, 
and  he  cannot  marry  another  without  her  consent  in  writing." 

"  I  wish  I  had  known  this  before  my  father  died !"  cried 
Ilian.  "  I  would  have  clung  to  him  and  soothed  his  old  age 
with  a  daughter's  filial  love.  I  might  have  been  able  to  have 
prolonged  his  days.  And  Adrien,  my  half-brother,  would 
have  been  happy,  and  under  my  influence  the  passion  for 
gambling  never  could  have  developed  as  it  did.  Poor  boy  ! 
now  I  can  account  for  those  strange  feelings  that  came  over 
me  whenever  I  thought  of  returning  to  live  with  him  as  his 
wife." 

"  I  will  now  make  the  promise  which  you  asked  of  me 
yesterday, — viz.,  I  will  not  mention  this  subject  of  your  par- 
entage while  you  are  alive.  I  will,  in  accordance  with  my 
oath  to  Adrien,  write  out  a  full  statement  of  your  strange 
history ;  and  if  you  survive  me  it  can  be  published  after  your 
death.  This  secret  will  remain  between  us.  At  any  time 
that  you  need  my  assistance  I  will  always  be  at  your  service. 
Dr.  Rechard  and  Samuel  Andermatt  both  suspect  the  true 
state  of  affairs,  and  it  rests  with  you  whether  to  enlighten 
them  further." 

"  I  think  I  will  do  so,"  said  she.  "  They  can  be  fully 
depended  upon.  Do  you  know  that  John  Rendeem  is  fearfully 
jealous  of  you  ?  He  is  making  desperate  love  to  me ;  but 
nothing  would  induce  me  to  link  my  life  again  with  any 
man." 

"Yes,  I  was  informed  of  it  by  Edith,  his  sister,  an  hour 
ago.  John  is  a  genial  and  good-natured  man  and  has  a  fine 
war-record.  Well,  I  will  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  pay  par- 
ticular attention  to  his  si^^tcr." 

"  That  will  make  him  happy.  Edith  will  understand  it ; 
so  all  will  be  peace  and  harmon3\" 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  that  I  think  Dr.  Rechard  and 
Edith  would  make  a  splendid  match  ?  I  never  saw  two 
people  more  suited  to  each  other.  If  they  could  only  be 
brought  together  a  marriage  would  follow  as  a  sure  sequence." 

"  The  idea  is  not  a  bad  one,"  Ilian  answered.  "  It  never 
occurred  to  me.  I  have  been  so  worked  up  about  my  own 
affairs  that  I  had  no  time  for  those  of  others.  I  will  invite 
the  doctor  to  come  to  New  York  tliis  summer.     He   talks 


340  ILIAN. 

about  coming;.  I  must  leave  you  now  to  dress  for  dinner.  I 
will  send  Edith  to  keep  you  company." 

In  a  few  moments  the  latter  came  into  the  roomj  in  a  pink 
dress,  all  radiant. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  I  said  to  her,  "  that  saying  of  Henry 
Ward  Beecher's  is  exemplified  in  you, — '  It  is  not  the  clothes 
that  make  the  man  or  woman,  but  when  they  are  made,  they 
look  better  well  dressed.'  " 

"  Is  that  a  compliment  for  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Of  course  it  is;  and  gazing  upon  you  in  that  lovely  silk 
makes  me  regret  that  I  did  not  finish  my  studies  in  medicine. 
I  spent  a  year  at  it.  .  If  I  was  now  only  an  M.D." 

Well,  what  would  you  do  if  you  were  an  M.D.  ?" 

"  Stir  up  the  folks  and  make  them  go  for  all  they  were  worth." 

"  Well,  you  will  not  stir  me  up,"  she  retorted  ;  "  and  now 
once  for  all,  I  tell  you  positively,  I  am  not  going  to  marry." 

"  When  you  do,"  I  persisted,  "  pray  let  me  perform  the 
ceremony  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  agree  to  that,"  said  she ;  "  but  you  will  die  of 
weary  waiting  before  that  comes  around.  Now  I  will  tell  you 
something.  Ilian  has  given  me  instructions  to  take  entire 
charge  of  you  for  the  rest  of  the  evening." 

"  Only  for  the  evening?     Why  not  for  life  ?" 

"  That  is  too  large  a  contract.  Here  comes  John  ;  he  is  a 
bigger  man  than  you  are  ;  be  careful." 

The  hearty  welcome  by  John  Rendeem  set  at  rest  all  doubts 
as  to  how  he  would  receive  me.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rendeem  and 
their  hospitality  no  one  can  forget  who  has  been  fortunate 
enough  to  see  them  and  share  their  festive-board.  That  even- 
ing was  one  of  the  most  pleasant  that  I  ever  spent  in  New 
York.  Ilian  was  in  one  of  her  happy  moods,  bright,  sparkling, 
and  glowing.  This  made  John  correspondingly  happy,  and 
he  pressed  me  to  stay  at  their  house  for  a  week.  That  was 
urged  by  all  the  family,  but  I  told  them  that  important  busi- 
ness called  me  home  early  the  next  morning.  I  left  their 
house  at  eleven,  and  at  parting  Edith  whispered  not  to  forget 
her  prescription.  I  followed  it  and  walked  six  times  around 
Union  Square,  and  enjoyed  it  so  much  that  I  would  have  re- 
peated the  dose  a  dozen  times  if  the  fair  doctress  had  been 
with  me. 

The  next  day  I  was  at  home  again. 


MYSTERIOUS  SHOOTING.  341 

CHAPTER  VI. 

MYSTERIOUS   SHOOTING. 

The  1st  of  March  came  and  was  ushered  in  with  its  usual 
boisterous  manner.  It  was  a  clear  day,  fine  and  bracing ;  but 
the  wind  was  out  for  a  grand  time,  and  it  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  sport,  which  was  more  than  the  pedestrians  did.  In  fact, 
some  of  them  used  language  far  from  ornamental  when  their 
silk  hats  went  flying  down  the  street.  There  is  nothing  so 
ridiculous  as  to  see  a  man  chasing  his  headgear,  and  others 
trying  to  assist  him  by  endeavoring  to  put  their  feet  on  the 
flying  article  of  dress. 

I  went  out  early  that  day,  as  I  had  a  good  deal  of  business 
to  transact,  and  did  not  return  home  till  late  in  the  afternoon. 
I  was  met  by  my  housekeeper  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 
A  telegram  had  come  for  me  about  half  an  hour  after  I  left 
in  the  morning.  At  three  o'clock  she  had  received  another 
from  Boston,  from  a  doctor  in  a  hospital,  asking  whether  I  was 
home, — if  not,  to  send  me  word  that  Miss  Mordine  was  dan- 
gerously ill  and  desired  to  see  me.  I  opened  my  telegram  and 
found  it  as  follows  : 


Hospital,  Bostox,  March  1. 


Accidentally  shot.  May  prove  fatal ;  come  at  once.  Have 
telegraphed  Dr.  Rechard.  Ilian. 

Looking  at  my  watch,  I  perceived  that  I  had  just  time  to 
reach  the  station  and  get  the  through  train  for  Boston.  I 
hastily  packed  up  a  few  needed  articles,  and  in  five  minutes 
from  the  time  I  had  entered  my  home  I  was  on  the  way  to  the 
railway  station.  Unfortunately,  the  horse-car  was  delayed  by 
a  coal-cart  for  several  minutes  ;  and  when  I  reached  the 
station  I  rushed  to  the  ticket-office  and  called  for  a  ticket  to 
Boston. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  late,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"  No  matter  j  let  me  have  the  ticket." 
29* 


342  ILIAN. 

It  was  handed  out  and  paid  for,  and  I  hurried  to  the  plat- 
form. 

"  Too  late  !"  said  the  gate-keeper,  as  he  shut  the  o;ate. 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death  !"  said  I,  "  and  I  must  get 
on  this  train." 

He  opened  the  gate.  As  I  saw  the  train  moving,  I  cried 
out,  "  clear  the  way !"  and  sent  two  train  employes  whirling 
round.  Reaching  the  last  carriage,  I  leaped  on  board.  A 
cheer  from  some  one  on  the  platform  greeted  my  success,  and 
I  was  hastening  to  New  York.  I  sent  a  telegram  from  Trenton 
to  Ilian,  informing  her  that  I  was  on  my  way. 

I  arrived  in  Boston  next  morning  at  six  o'clock,  and  has- 
tened to  the  Tremont  House.  After  breakfast  I  took  a  car- 
riage and  drove  to  the  hospital  designated  in  my  telegram. 
When  I  had  reached  it  I  saw  the  surgeon  in  charge,  gave  him 
my  card,  and  asked  for  particulars.  He  told  me  that  he  knew 
nothing  about  the  aifair  more  than  this :  Miss  Mordine  had 
been  brought  to  the  hospital  the  previous  morning  about  eight 
o'clock  by  two  gentlemen  in  a  carriage,  who  explained  that 
she  had  taken  a  revolver  to  fire  at  a  target,  and  was  examin- 
iog  it  to  see  if  it  was  in  good  condition,  when  it  suddenly 
weut  off.  This  statement  the' lady  corroborated.  There  was 
no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  the  shooting  was  accidental,  for  the 
wound  was  a  slanting  one.  The  bullet  had  entered  above  the 
left  breast  and  came  out  at  the  collar-bone  at  the  back,  and 
made  just  such  a  wound  as  would  result  from  a  careless  hand- 
ling of  fire-arms.  In  fact,  he  added,  he  had  seen  a  number  of 
similar  cases. 

I  asked  him  whether  he  thought  there  was  any  danger  of  a 
serious  termination. 

"Yes,"  was  his  reply.  "There  is  danger  of  inflammation 
setting  in,  and  it  would  be  well  to  notify  her  relatives." 

"  Has  this  not  been  done?"  I  asked. 

"  You  and  Dr.  Rechard  are  the  only  ones  so  far,  and  he  has 
answered  that  he  would  leave  at  once  for  Boston." 

As  I  was  talking  to  him,  a  telegram  came  from  Dr.  Rechard 
from  a  way-station  asking  to  be  informed  of  the  condition  of 
Miss  Mordine,  the  reply  to  be  sent  to  a  place  designated.  The 
»  answer  was  duly  sent, — 

"  Worse  ;  may  terminate  fatally." 

A  nurse  was  sent  to  Ilian's  room  to  prepare  her  for  my  visit. 


MYSTERIOUS  SHOOTING,  343 

I  was  profoundly  grieved  when  I  saw  her  face  almost  as  white 
as  the  pillow  on  which  her  head  was  resting.  She  put  out 
both  her  hands  and  with  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  she  said  in 
a  gentle  voice, — 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  ;  I  wanted  to  see  you.  Will 
you  stay  by  me  till  all  is  over?" 

"  Do  not  give  up  in  this  manner,"  said  I.  "  Your  wound  is 
not  necessarily  fatal.  Many  thousands  have  been  wounded 
far  more  severely  than  you,  and  are  living  to-day.  You  have 
seen  them  yourself  in  the  hospitals  as  they  were  brought  in 
from  the  battle-field.  Let  your  strong  will  prevail,  and  many 
years  of  a  pleasant  life  will  be  yours." 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  feel  that  my  days  are  numbered ;  in 
fact,  my  hours.  It  becomes  me  to  make  such  preparation  as 
may  be  necessary.  I  propose  making  my  will  to-day  and  I 
will  not  forget  you." 

"  llian,  if  you  have  any  respect  for  my  feelings  you  will  not 
leave  me  a  single  dollar.  I  am  poor,  God  knows,  but  I  could 
not  touch  any  of  your  money." 

"  Are  you  afraid  that  it  is  tainted  with  the  curse  ?"  she  asked. 

*'  That  is  not  the  reason,"  said  I.  "  Your  money  came  to 
you  legally  through  inheritance  from  your  grandfather's  estate. 
It  is  that  I  would  much  prefer  that  your  memory  should  ever 
dwell  in  my  heart  unalloyed  by  the  thought  that  I  took  the 
money  that  belonged  by  right  to  your  relatives.  You  have 
those  in  South  Carolina  who  are  needy,  and  to  them  it  will  be 
a  Godsend." 

"  I  doubt  whether  they  will  appreciate  your  feeling  in  this 
matter,"  said  she  ;  "  but  I  will  leave  you  all  my  private  papers. 
I  have  that  box  here  in  my  room  and  among  the  things  in  it 
you  will  find  that  jewelled  hair-pin.  Keep  it'for  my  sake ;  the 
sting  is  gone,  as  you  once  said ;  and  I  hope  it  has  also  left  no 
unpleasant  remembrance  behind." 

^  "  Not  with  me,  I  assure  you,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  I  have  not 
given  up  all  hope  yet.  Dr.  Rechard  is  due  here  to-morrow 
evening,  and  I  have  suggested  to  the  doctor  in  charge  to  call 
in  the  ablest  medical  skill  in  Boston  ;  but  let  me  ask  you  a 
question.  Should  this  illness  terminate  in  death,  what  prep- 
aration have  you  made  to  meet  your  God  ?" 

"I  shall  render  back  to  Him  the  spirit  which  He  gave, 
tainted  with  the  companionship  of  evil ;  but  it  can  stand  before 


344  ILIAN. 

Him  without  a  blush,  for  I  have  guarded  my  honor  as  I  did 
my  life.  In  looking  back  over  my  brief  career  I  can  remem- 
ber much  that  I  wish  had  not  been  done,  and  many  things  I 
might  have  performed.  I  have  not  withheld  the  hand  of 
charity  from  those  needing  help.  I  never  united  with  any 
particular  religious  denomination,  although  nominally  an  Epis- 
copalian, but  I  have  made  it  a  point  to  attend  some  church 
each  Sabbath.  I  never  set  myself  forth  as  a  saint,  and  do  not 
think  that  I  am  a  great  offender  beyond  the  average  woman 
of  my  age.  I  had  no  choice  in  regard  to  coming  into  the 
world  and  I  have  not  been  consulted  as  to  the  time,  manner,  or 
place  of  my  leaving  it." 

"  Ilian,"  said  I,  "  you  are  gifted  with  too  much  common 
sense  not  to  see  that  by  your  line  of  argument  you  throw  all 
the  blame  for  the  evil  of  your  life  upon  your  Creator.  The 
question  for  you  to  consider  is  what  use  you  have  made  of  the 
more  than  ordinary  talents  entrusted  to  your  care.  Have  you 
improved  them,  and  do  you  think  that  the  world  is  better 
because  you  were  born  into  it,  or  would  it  have  been  better 
for  mankind  if  you  had  died  in  your  infancy  ?" 

"  Have  I  been  such  a  great  sinner  ?" 

"  No,  that  is  not  the  inference  that  I  wish  you  to  draw. 
My  question  is  applicable  to  all  those  who,  like  yourself,  have 
been  gifted  with  great  mental  ability.  You  know  that  our 
Saviour  said  that  to  whom  much  is  given  from  them  shall 
much  be  required.  I  know,  however,  that  you  are  too  weak  at 
present,  and  therefore  I  will  not  weary  you  with  these  important 
problems." 

"  My  dear  chaplain,"  she  replied,  "you  do  not  weary  me  in 
the  least ;  far  from  it,  for  I  am  deeply  interested  ;  I  am  never 
so  happy  as  when  engaged  in  theological  discussions.  I  have 
read  the  claims  of  the  Baptists,  Methodists,  Presbyterians, 
Episcopalians,  and  other  religious  denominations,  including 
the  Koman  Catholic ;  and  I  assert  now,  that  if  my  life  de- 
pended on  it,  I  do  not  know  which  I  should  choose  as  the  one 
combining  all  that  my  soul  craves  after." 

"  Let  me  ask  you  to  explain  in  a  few  brief  words  what  it  is 
that  your  soul  longs  for." 

"  For  many,  many  things.  There  have  been  periods  in  my 
life  when  I  longingly  sought  to  breathe  in  an  atmosphere  where 
there  was  no  taint  of  sin  and  evil,  and  I  wondered  whether 


MYSTERIOUS  SHOOTING.  345 

there  was  any  denomination  that  could  enable  me  to  live  far 
above  the  world's  strife,  meanness,  and  jealousy.  I  desired  to 
reach  an  altitude  where  I  could  look  down  upon  the  rest  of 
my  fellows  in  their  misery  and  heart-burning,  and  then,  like 
Excelsior,  to  mount  higher  and  higher.  My  soul  has  thirsted 
for  knowledge  aod  I  have  read  early  and  late,  but  have  not 
been  satisfied.  I  never  worshipped  ray  gold  or  sought  by  its 
display  to  make  others  envious  or  unhappy.  I  seldom  went 
into  society,  and  cared  nothing  for  what  people  said  about  my 
raiment.  It  was  more  pleasure  to  me  to  seek  out  the  needy 
and  give  them  warm  clothing  than  to  place  costly  fabrics  on 
my  back.  Now,  then,  can  you  tell  me  what  denomination 
comes  nearest  to  my  ideal  ?" 

"  I  answer  this  query  by  telling  you  a  simple  truth,"  I  re- 
plied. "  When  you  are  called  upon  to  stand  before  the 
bar  of  judgment,  the  question  will  not  be  asked  you,  of  what 
religious  denomination  you  were  a  member,  but  whether  you 
have  loved  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  with  all  your  mind  and 
heart,  and  were  you  regenerated.  There  is  at  the  present  day 
too  much  denomination,  and  too  little  of  the  genuine  religion 
of  Christ.  I  must  now  leave  you  for  a  while.  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  want  you  to  send  a  telegram  to  the  Rev.  Father 
Murphy.  You  will  find  his  directions  in  my  portfolio  on  the 
table.  He  attended  my  mother  in  her  last  illness.  I  have 
S'  en  him  from  time  to  time  since.  I  saw  him  a  few  days 
ago.  If  my  illness  should  terminate  fatally,  here  is  a  letter 
which  you  are  to  open  after  my  death.  I  wrote  it  this  morn- 
ing. I  am  not  suffering  any  pain,  and  my  brain  is  as  clear  as 
it  ever  was,  but  my  heart's  action  is  weak  and  it  may  stop 
suddenly.  I  am  anxious  to  see  Dr.  Rechard.  I  have  not 
sent  word  to  the  Rendeem  family,  but  will  do  so  to-morrow 
if  I  get  worse." 

"  John  Rendeem  will  feel  badly,"  said  I,  "  when  he  knows 
you  shot  yourself."   . 

"  He  knows  it  already,"  said  she  ;  "  and  so  does  some  one 
else." 

"  Ilian,"  I  replied,  "  there  is  some  mystery  about  this 
affair.  You  have  always  had  the  reputation  of  being  very 
careful,  and  you  are  not  the  woman  to  handle  carelessly  a 
loaded  pistoh" 


346  ILIAN. 

"■  I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  about  it  now,"  said  she  ; 
"  but  one  thing  I  assure  you,  I  held  the  revolver  in  my  own 
hand  when  it  went  off." 

The  physicians  now  came  in  to  hold  a  consultation,  and  I 
left  the  sick-chamber. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

FATHER   MURPHY    NOT    POTENT. 

I  WENT  to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  a  message  to  the 
Rev.  Father  Murphy  to  come  direct  to  the  hospital  to  meet 
Miss  Mordine.  I  knew  that  he  could  not  get  there  before 
four  o'clock,  so  I  went  back  to  my  hotel  and  at  about  three 
went  again  to  visit  Ilian.  She  told  me  that  the  doctors  had 
been  frank  with  her.  Her  condition  was  serious.  She  had 
received  three  telegrams, — one  from  Dr.  Rechard  on  his  way, 
one  from  Samuel  Andermatt,  and  a  reply  from  Rev.  Thomas 
Murphy,  who  would  leave  on  the  first  train. 

"  Chaplain,"  she  continued,  "  do  you  believe  in  the  recog- 
nition of  our  friends  in  the  other  world  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  I  answered.  "  The  chief  part  of  our 
joy  here  is  the  thought  of  eternal  happiness  in  company 
with  those  who  were  our  kindred  on  earth." 

"  I  believe  in  that  theory  myself,"  said  she,  •'  and  it  robs 
death  of  its  sting  when  I  think  of  the  welcome  I  hope  to  re- 
ceive from  my  father  and  mother  aud  Adrien  and  others. 
The  more  I  think  of  it  the  less  desire  I  have  for  life.  There 
is  also  the  prospects  of  increased  knowledge.  I  will  not  be 
in  the  dark  about  so  many  subjects  that  perplex  me  here." 

"  May  I  ask  on  what  ground  you  expect  so  much  happi- 
ness ?     Have  you  any  claim  to  present  ?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  I  can  give  any  well-defined  idea  why 
I  look  for  increased  happiness,"  she  answered,  "  except  a 
vague  one  that  God  is  good  to  the  creatures  of  His  world.  I 
certainly  have  no  claim  to  any  condition  of  existence  in  the 
next  sphere." 


FATHER  MURPHY  NOT  POTENT.  347 

"  Do  you  not  think,  then,  that  you  should  seek  for  a  sub- 
stantial foundation,  especially  when  so  much  depends  upon  it?" 

"  What  do  you  call  the  foundation  ?" 

"  Faith  in  the  atonement  of  our  Saviour.  I  do  not  mean  a 
simple  acquiescence  in  his  directions,  but  a  living,  practical 
faith." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  she ;  "  but  it  is  now  too  late 
to  change  my  status.  I  have  no  confidence  in  those  who  live 
all- their  lives  far  from  God  and  in  their  last  moment  try  to 
avoid  the  punishment  due  to  their  careless,  wretched  life  by  a 
confession  which  has  no  depth  of  meaning  and  is  the  product 
of  fear." 

Our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  nurse  bringing  in 
the"  card  of  Father  Murphy. 

"Chaplain,"  said  she,  "go  and  have  a  preliminary  talk 
with  him.-  Tell  him  that  I  sent  for  him  to  come  as  a  friend, 
and  because  he  attended  the  last  hours  of  my  mother." 

I  went  to  the  reception-room  and  found  the  priest  waiting. 
He  was  a  man  about  sixty  years  of  age,  a  perfect  gentleman 
in  language  and  deportment.  I  soon  realized  that  he  was 
charitable  in  his  religious  views.  He  believed  that  though 
Protestants  were  living  out  of  the  fold  of  what  he  called  the 
true  Apostolic  Church,  yet. their  sincerity  and  love  for  tho 
Lord  would  in  the  end  win  for  them  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
although  necessitating  considerable  purgatorial  fire. 

"  Have  you  any  objection,"  he  asked,  "  if  I  talk  to  Miss 
Mordine  in  regard  to  her  soul's  welfare?  I  may  be  able  to 
enroll  her  as  a  member  of  the  true  Church.  I  attended  her 
mother,  who  made  her  confession,  and  I  privately  gave  her 
absolution." 

"  I  thought  that  Mrs.  Yerdere  died  a  Protestant,"  I  replied. 

"  Outwardly  so,"  said  he ;  "  but  in  spirit  I  felt  that  she  was 
a  Catholic." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  find  the  daughter  of  different 
material.  She  is  the  child  of  the  late  Professor  Homerand. 
Of  this  fact  I  believe  you  are  aware.  Her  mother  confessed 
to  you  and  Ilian  told  you  herself  last  month." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it ;  but  I  may  prevail  upon  her  child  to  follow 
her  mother's  example  and  confess  and  receive  absolution." 

"  All  right,  my  dear  Father  Murphy,"  said  I.  "  The  field 
is  yours ;  but  with  all  due  deference  I  doubt  your  success." 


348  ILIAN. 

"  The  powers  of  our  Church  are  mighty  and  will  prevail 
over  the  gates  of  darkness." 

"  Nous  verrons.  I  have  to  go  out  and  will  call  for  you  at 
six  o'clock  to  come  and  take  dinner  with  me  at  my  hotel." 

"  I  will  be  most  happy  to  do  so,"  said  he. 

I  left  the  worthy  priest  to  engage  in  what  I  considered  a 
herculean  task  and  went  out  to  answer  the  telegrams  from  Dr. 
Rechard  and  Sam  Andermatt.     Both  were  of  the  same  tenor : 

"  No  hope  of  recovery ;  may  survive  until  the  eve  of  the 
4th,  so  the  doctor  says." 

I  returned  to  my  hotel  and  ordered  dinner  for  two  at 
half-past  six.  I  then  walked  slowly  to  the  hospital,  arriving 
at  the  appointed  time.  Five  minutes  after  Father  Murphy 
came  into  the  reception-room.  I  noticed  that  he  did  not  have 
the  air  of  a  victorious  general ;  in  fact,  he  looked  like  one 
who  had  been  roughly  handled  in  some  mental  encounter. 
This  I  fully  expected. 

"  Did  you  reach  the  absolution-point?"  I  asked. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  did  not  get  anywhere  near  it," 
he  replied.  "  What  a  keen,  logical  reasoner  that  girl  is.  She 
can  argue  like  a  Webster  and  has  the  diplomacy  of  a  Bisraark. 
I  found  her  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  history  of  our 
Church.  She  related  to  me  in  concise  terms  all  the  points 
that  I  purposed  to  lay  before  her,  and  answered  each  and 
every  one  of  them,  so  that  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was 
puzzled  what  to  say  in  reply.  She  has  the  rare  faculty  of 
saying  in  five  minutes  what  most  people  would  take  an  hour 
to  present.  I  crossed  myself  several  times  and  implored  the 
aid  of  the  Holy  Virgin  to  help  me  and  to  keep  me  from  being 
influenced  by  her  logic.  I  do  believe  that  in  another  hour  I 
should  have  been  persuaded  to  have  turned  a  Protestant,  and 
then  my  soul  would  have  been  in  danger.  My  dear  chaplain, 
I  give  the  field  back  to  you.     What  a  wonderful  woman  !" 

"  It  never  was  mine,"  I  replied  to  him  ;  ''  I  cannot  influence 
her  any  more  than  yourself.  It  is  true  that  she  is  a  Protes- 
tant, but  she  has  her  own  view  of  things  and  purposes  to  die 
with  her  own  way  of  thinking." 

I  went  in  and  told  Ilian  that  she  had  better  take  a  needful 
rest.  To  my  surprise  she  was  a  trifle  better.  Her  voice  was 
stronger  and  there  was  an  amused  expression  on  her  face  as 
she  said, — 


FATHER  MURPHY  NOT  POTENT.  349 

"  Chaplain,  I  am  ready  for  another  theological  antagonist. 
It  does  me  good  ;  more  so  than  the  medicine  that  I  am  taking. 
It  keeps  up  my  spirits  and  takes  my  mind  oflf  morbid  thoughts. 
Come  back  after  your  dinner  and  we  will  have  another  quiet 
little  confab.  I  will  sleep  better  if  you  do.  What  does  the 
good  priest  say?" 

"  He  told  me  that  genius  in  your  case  was  hereditary,  and 
that  if  you  had  been  born  a  man  your  power  would  have  been 
felt  as  a  great  foctor  in  the  world's  affairs." 

*'  Does  he  think,"  she  asked,  "  that  women  are  debarred 
from  entering  the  arena  where  cultured  minds  strive  for  the 
mastery  and  to  gain  the  bauble  which  men  call  fame  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  tliat,  but  women  are  handicapped  by  old-time 
prejudice,  which  in  the  coming  generation  may  be  overcome. 
For  my  own  part,.  I  believe  that  the  next  century  will  witness 
a  great  revolution  in  the  relations  of  womankind  with  the 
affairs  of  the  world," 

"I  wish  that  I  could  live  to  see  it,"  said  she ;  "  but,  alas  ! 
forty-eight  hours  will  bring  a  radical  change  to  me.  I  will 
leave  all  my  wealth  behind  and  no  regret  at  parting  with  it. 
I  have  no  fear ;  I  am  full  of  hope  and  pleasurable  excite- 
ment." 

"  I  must  leave  you  for  a  short  time,"  I  replied.  "  I  an- 
swered the  telejrrams  for  you,  and  by  to-morrow  evening  you 
will  see  Dr.  Rechard."     So  I  left  her. 

Father  Murphy  and  myself  enjoyed  a  pleasant  dinner.  By 
mutual  consent  sectarian  subjects  were  avoided,  and  we  dis- 
cussed the  many  attractive  places  in  Europe,  in  their  political, 
historical,  and  scientific  aspects,  and  both  of  us  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  there  was  no  place  like  America.  After  our 
dinner  Father  Murphy  went  to  a  friend's  house,  and  on  my 
return  to  the  hospital  I  found  Ilian  asleep,  so  I  went  back 
to  my  hotel. 


30 


350  ILIAN. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   LAST    EVENING. 


I  AROSE  early  on  the  following  morning.  The  day  was 
dark  and  dismal.  The  east  wind  was  blowing  with  a  keen, 
penetrating  force.  On  going  down  to  the  hotel.  ofl5ce  I  found 
a  telegram  from  Dr.  Rechard  stating  that  he  would  be  due 
in  Boston  by  the  train  arriving  at  half-past  five  that  evening. 
I  then  went  to  the  hospital  and  the  surgeon  in  charge  told  me 
that  they  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  the  recovery  of  Miss 
Mordine,  and  that  it  was  my  duty  to  notify  her  relatives  at 
once.  She  might  survive  till  the  next  afternoon,  but  was 
liable  to  pass  away  at  very  short  notice.  When  I  went  into 
her  room  I  noticed  a  great  change  in  her  appearance.  There 
was  no  doubt  of  her  Aliling  ph'^ysical  powers.  A  smile  was  on 
her  face  and  she  looked  happy ;  while  I  was  speaking  to  her 
Father  Murphy  came  in.  As  soon  as  she  saw  him  she  said, 
with  a  look  full  of  meaning, — 

"  You  and  the  chaplain  have  both  sought  to  win  me  over 
to  your  different  ways  of  thinking.  You  felt  confident  of  the 
great  power  of  your  Apostolic  Church,  as  you  call  your  creed, 
to  overcome  all  my  scruples  and  to  enroll  me  as  a  member  in 
good  standing,  and  would  have  given  me  absolution  and  a 
letter  of  credit  to  the  other  world.  He,  on  his  part,  set  forth 
the  tenets  of  his  denomination  and  trusted  to  logical  deduc- 
tion that  I  would  pass  away  according  to  his  views.  Both  of 
you  did  me  good,  and  I  fully  accept  the  best  of  what  you  pre- 
sented. It  may  be  a  satisfaction  to  you  both  to  know  that  I 
am  ready  to  go  into  the  presence  of  our  Redeemer  with  the 
blessed  assurance  of  sin  pardoned  and  the  prospect  of  an 
eternal  life  in  the  presence  of  my  God.  I  will  die  neither  a 
Catholic  nor  Baptist,  but  simply  as  a  trusting  child  of  God." 

To  this  Father  Murphy  made  no  reply.  I  saw  that  his 
heart  was  too  full  for  utterance.  I  told  Ilian  that  it  was 
necessary  to  inform  the  Rendeem  family  of  her  condition 
without  further  delay. 


THE  LAST  EVEXIXG.  351 

"  Very  good,"  said  she.  "I  leave  this  matter  entirely  in 
your  hands." 

"  Also,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I  would  like  to  send  word 
to  your  uncle,  Mr.  Thomas  Homerand,"  I  added. 

"  I  forgot  that  I  had  any  relations  so  near  akin.  Do  you 
think  that  he  will  come,  or  that  he  will  acknowledge  me  as 
his  brother's  child  ?" 

"  Certainly  he  will.  He  is  living  in  the  Homerand  man- 
sion, where  he  was  born,  and  it  is  not  far  from  here.  I  will 
leave  Father  Murphy  with  you  and  will  go  and  attend  to  this 
business." 

I  sent  a  despatch  to  Mr.  Joseph  Rendeem  advising  him  to 
come  to  Boston  if  he  wished  to  see  Ilian  alive.  I  then  wrote 
a  note  to  Mr.  Homerand  and  gave  him  a  brief  account  of  his 
niece,  and  of  the  proof  of  her  birth  and  her  present  danger- 
ous illness,  and  added  that  if  he  was  willing  to  acknowledge 
her,  to  come  to  the  hospital.  This  was  sent  by  a  special  mes- 
senger. On  my  return  I  found  the  answer  from  Mr.  Ren- 
deem,  saying  that  he  would  leave  by  the  ten-o'clock  train,  and 
that  his  wife  and  daughter  would  accompany  him.  His 
daughter  Alice  and  her  husband  were  out  West. 

At  noon  I  was  watching  by  Ilian's  bedside.  She  was  sleep- 
ing. Father  Murphy  had  been  obliged  to  return  to  his  parish, 
but  promised  to  come  back  next  day.  A  card  was  handed  to 
me  and  I  read  the  name,  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas  Homerand." 
I  went  to  the  reception-room  and  saw  an  elderly  gentleman  of 
about  sixty-five,  with  a  dignified  look,  who  impressed  me  that 
while  he  could  be  severe  to  those  who  transgressed  the  laws, 
yet  I  felt  he  had  a  large  heart  inside  of  his  massive  frame. 
His  wife  was,  perhaps,  two  years  his  junior,  and  one  of  the 
most  lovable  ladies  that  I  had  seen  for  some  time.  His  first 
question  convinced  me  that  I  had  not  erred  in  my  estimation 
of  his  character. 

"  How  is  our  dear  niece?  How  we  both  long  to  see  our 
brother  Homer's  daughter  1     How  was  she  shot?" 

I  replied  that  she  was  sinking  fast,  and  the  shooting  was 
accidental.  I  showed  them  a  cabinet  portrait  of  Ilian  taken 
a  few  months  previous. 

"  What  a  lovely,  handsome  girl !"  was  their  reply.  "  She 
has  her  father's  mouth,  and  it  is  a  striking  likeness." 

I  told  them  that  I  would  prepare  her  for  the  interview.     I 


352  ILIAN. 

found  Ilian  awake,  and  she  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of 
meeting  some  one  akin  to  her. 

I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  describe  in  full  the  meeting  be- 
tween Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homerand  and  the  daughter  of  their 
dead  brother.  It  was  too  pathetic  for  description.  The  uncle 
could  hardly  utter  the  words, — 

"  My  darling  child,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  and  sorry 
to  find  you  so  ill." 

He  kissed  her  white  brow.  His  wife  was  completely  over- 
come and  wept  like  a  child. 

If  we  had  known  of  this  relationship  before,"  they  both 
said,  "  we  would  have  taken  you  to  our  heart  and  home.  We 
have  no  children  of  our  own  and  you  would  have  filled  a 
daughter's  place." 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  recognize  me,"  was  the  plain- 
tive rejoinder,  in  a  voice  that  brought  fresh  tears. 

"  How  could  you  think  so  inhumanly  of  us?  Your  father 
told  me  years  ago  that  he  had  solemnly  sworn  to  marry  your 
mother,  and  that  before  God  she  was  his  legal  wife.  I  never 
knew  that  you  were  alive  till  this  morning.  My  brother  told 
me  that  you  died  at  birth.  If  money  can  prolong  your  life 
I  will  freely  spend  all  my  fortune'  to  save  you.  I  will  send 
for  the  ablest  physicians." 

"  Many  thanks,  dear  uncle,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  I  have  al- 
ready had  the  best  medical  skill,  and  it  is  of  no  avail." 

Leaving  his  wife  wi'h  their  niece,  we  went  out  together  to 
see  the  head  surgeon.  I  told  3Ir.  Homerand  that  his  niece  was 
worth  over  a  million  dollars,  and  was  anxious  to  make  her  will, 
and  I  would  leave  him  to  attend  to  it,  while  I  would  go  to  meet 
the  five-thirty  train,  as  her  cousins  on  her  mother's  side,  Mr. 
Joseph  Rendeem  and  family,  were  coming  from  New  York 
City. 

"  I  know  of  them,"  was  his  reply.  "  One  of  the  oldest  of 
the  New  York  families ;  and  who  is  this  Dr.  Rechard  ?" 

I  told  him  what  I  knew,  and  left  him  to  draw  up  the  will 
and  have  it  signed.     In  parting  I  said, — 

"  Ilian,  your  niece,  proposed  to  remember  me  in  this  will ; 
but  under  no  conditions  will  I  accept  one  dollar.  On  this 
point  I  am  determined." 

At  half-past  five,  punctual  to  the  minute,  the  train  arrived 
from  New  York.     In  the  second  carriat^e  I  saw  the  face  of 


THE  LAST  EVENING.  353 

Miss  Edith  Rendeem.  The  next  moment  I  was  shaking  hands 
with  her  father  and  mother.  They  all  asked  me  a  dozen 
questions  at  once. 

"  How  was  Ilian  ?  Who  did  the  shooting  ?  Where,  when, 
what  time  ?  Why  did  I  not  notify  them  before  ?  Did  John 
know  of  it?"  I  replied  as  best  I  could,  and  was  in  the  midst 
of  my  explanations  when  some  one  touched  me  on  the  shoul- 
der, saying,— 

"  My  dear  chaplain,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  It  is  a  long  time 
since  last  we  met  in  New  Orleans,  but  you  have  not  changed 
much." 

"  Dr.  Rechard,"  I  replied,  "  I  am  glad  to  welcome  you  here, 
although  your  errand  is  a  sad  one.  Ilian  is  beyond  the  hope 
of  recovery." 

I  introduced  him  to  the  Rendeem  family,  who  expressed 
great  pleasure  at  seeing  one  of  whom  they  had"  heard  so 
much. 

"  Where  is  my  son  John  ?"  Mr.  Rendeem  again  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  replied.  "  Ilian  told  me  that  he  knew 
of  her  injury,  but  I  have  not  seen  him." 

"  Strange  proceeding,"  said  the  father. 

"  There  is  a  mystery  about  this  shooting  that  I  cannot 
penetrate,"  I  answered,  "  and  Ilian  is  too  ill  now  t®  question 
her.  I  left  her  with  her  uncle  and  aunt,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thomas  Homerand.  There  are  two  carriages  waiting  and  we 
will  go  to  the  hospital." 

■'  Uncle  and  aunt !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Rendeem  and  his  wife. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  Ilian  was  the  daughter  of  the  late  Pro- 
fessor Homerand?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Edith,  who  answered  the  question  for  me  ; 
"  I  heard  the  full  details  two  months  ago  from  Ilian  herself. 
But  let  us  not  stand  talking  on  this  platform  any  longer.  Let 
us  step  into  this  carriage,  and  the  coachman  can  get  our  bag- 
gage." 

This  was  done.  Dr.  Rechard  and  myself  went  together, 
while  the  Rendeems  occupied  the  other  coach.  On  the  way 
I  gave  the  doctor  all  the  details  of  what  had  happened  since 
my  arrival,  all  that  I  knew  of  the  shooting,  and  of  my  sus- 
picions that  John  Rendeem  was  involved  in  it  in  some  way. 
When  we  arrived  at  the  hospital  a  surgeon  met  us  and 
directed  that  in  order  to  avoid  all  excitement  only  two  should 
X  30* 


354  ILIAN. 

go  in  to  see  Miss  Mordine  at  a  time.  Mrs.  Ren  deem  and  her 
daughter  went  first ;  then  Mr.  Rendeem ;  and  when  they 
came  out  Dr.  Rechard  and  myself  went  in.  Poor  fellow,  he 
was  as  pale  as  the  woman  before  us.  She  was  under  the  in- 
fluence of  morphia,  and  we  did  not  stay  long.  We  found  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Homerand  in  the  reception-room.  They  had  intro- 
duced themselves  to  the  Rendeems,  and  I  introduced  the 
doctor.  Mr.  Homerand  told  me  that  the  will  had  been  drawn 
up  and  signed  before  witnesses.  He  then  invited  us  all  to  go 
to  his  house  for  dinner.  We  replied  that  it  would  take  some 
time  to  prepare  for  so  many,  and  proposed  that  instead  he  and 
his  wife  should  come  to  the  Tremont  House.  In  an  hour's 
time  we  were  all  seated  in  a  private  dining-room  of  that  hotel. 
After  our  meal  Edith  and  Dr.  Rechard  both  said  that  they 
would  sit  up  all  night  with  Ilian  and  would  inform  us  of  any 
change  for  the  worse. 

The  following  morning  we  went  again  to  the  hospital,  and 
when  we  saw  her  we  perceived  that  the  end  was  not  far  off. 
She  declined  to  take  any  more  morphia,  declaring  that  she 
was  not  suffering  any  pain,  and  that  she  wished  to  pass  away 
with  full  consciousness.  We  expected  the  last  messenger  to 
come  for  her  at  noon  ;  but  at  that  hour  she  rallied  somewhat, 
and  her  mental  powers  were  stronger  than  for  two  days  pre- 
vious. At  three  o'clock  I  returned  to  the  hospital,  having 
been  absent  half  an  hour  on  a  visit  to  a  florist  to  purchase  a 
bouquet  of  Ilian's  fiivorite  flowers  for  which  she  expressed  a 
desire. 

I  saw  a  man  with  a  heavy  overcoat  on  and  his  hat  draw* 
down  over  his  face  looking  in  at  the  partly-open  door  of  the 
sick-chamber.  He  turned  away  and  walked  down  the  hallway 
and  entered  a  vacant  room.  I  had  but  a  partial  glimpse  of 
the  stranger,  but  recognized  John  Rendeem.  He  had  not 
closed  the  door  of  the  room,  and  as  I  had  rubber  shoes  on  he 
did  not  hear  my  footsteps.  A  moment  after  I  heard  the  click 
of  a  pistol.  I  pushed  the  door  open  and  was  horrified  to  see 
him  standing  by  the  window  with  his  back  to  me  holding  a 
pistol  in  his  right  hand  and  pressing  the  muzzle  against  his 
temple.  I  dropped  the  flowers,  and  with  one  bound  I  was 
at  his  side  and  snatched  the  pistol  out  of  his  grasp.  I 
demanded  of  him  in  stern  tones  what  he  meant  by  such  a 
foolish  act. 


THE  LAST  EVENING.  355 

"  Give  me  back  that  revolver,"  was  his  savap^e  rejoinder. 

"Never!"  I  replied.  "Do  you  know  that  Iliun  is  now 
near  her  death  and  wishes  to  see  you  ?" 

I  then  noticed  that  his  left  sleeve  was  pinned  to  his  coat, 
and  that  his  arm  was  in  a  sling  underneath.  I  put  his  pistol 
in  my  pocket  and  picking  up  the  flowers  told  him  in  a  per- 
emptory tone  to  come  with  me.  He  made  no  remonstrance, 
and  we  went  into  the  sick- chamber. 

"  John,"  his  father  asked,  "  where  have  you  been  and  what 
is  the  matter  with  your  arm  ?" 

His  mother  merely  said,  "  John,  how  could  you  stay  away 
so  long?" 

His  sister  came  up  to  him  and  looked  into  his  face  search- 
ingly,  but  said  nothing.  Dr.  Rechard  gave  him  a  significant 
look  which  was  full  of  anger. 

Ilian  was  sitting  up  in  bed  propped  by  pillows.  Besides 
those  mentioned,  her  uncle  and  aunt  were  also  in  the  apart- 
ment, and  sitting  by  the  window  was  Father  Murphy  reading 
his  prayer-book. 

"  John,  I  wish  to  see  you,"  said  Ilian  in  a  low  voice. 

He  went  to  her  bedside  and  she  took  his  hand.  "  You 
must  swear  before  God  and  all  present  in  this  room  that  you 
will  not  seek  revenge  on  the  man  who  was  the  cause  of  my 
hurt." 

"  Never  !"  was  the  reply.  "  I  will  follow  him  all  over  the 
world,  and  I  will  not  rest  satisfied  until  I  have  killed  him." 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  she.  "  John,  you 
surely  cannot  refuse  my  last  request." 

"  You  ask  a  great  deal,"  was  his  answer.  "  How  can  I  fail 
in  my  revenge  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  all  the  power  of  her  great  blue  eyes, 
and  continued, — 

"  Please  do  as  I  wish." 

"  John,"  said  his  father,  "  how  can  you  hesitate?" 

Edith  came  up  and  placed  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  say- 

"  John,  here  is  the  chance  to  exhibit  the  proof  of  your  love." 

"  Ilian,"  he  cried,  "  God  knows  that  I  have  loved  you  as 

man  never  loved  woman,  and  for  your  sake  I  swear  to  let  that 

scoundrel  alone ;  but  it  will  be  dangerous  for  him  to  cross  my 

path." 


356  ILIAN. 

This  episode  deepened  the  mystery  of  the  shooting,  but  no 
one  asked  for  an  explanation. 

"  Chaplain,"  said  Ilian  to  me,  "  will  you  grant  me  a  request? 
You  alone  were  with  Adrien  when  he  died  and  witnessed  his 
last  breath.  I  ask  to  pass  away  in  your  arms.  Hold  the 
pillow  on  which  my  head  is  resting." 

I  did  as  requested,  and  her  kindred  gathered  round,  as  all 
felt  her  end  had  come. 

"  Good-by,  Uncle  Thomas  and  my  dear  Aunt  Mary,  accept 
of  my  thanks  for  all  your  kindness.  It  is  sweet  to  feel  that  I 
have  a  share  in  your  love.  Farewell,  Cousin  Joseph  ;  and  you 
also,  my  second  mother.  Edith,  we  must  part  now  ;  there  will 
be  no  more  pleasant  drives  and  quiet  talks  together.  John, 
adieu  !  forgive  me  if  I  have  tantalized  you.  Dr.  Rechard, 
don't  mourn  for  my  loss.  I  know  you  will  miss  me,  but  we 
will  meet  again.  Now,  my  dear  chaplain,  take  my  hand.  I 
am  getting  cold,  but,  oh,  I  am  so  happy !" 

It  was  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten.  Tears  were  freely 
shed  by  all  present.  A  few  moments  after  she  whispered  in 
my  ear, — 

"  They  have  come  for  me." 

"  Who  ?"  I  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  My  father,  my  mother,  Adrien." 

The  sun  which  had  been  under  the  clouds  all  day  suddenly 
broke  through  the  barrier  which  hid  its  bright  rays  from  our 
depressed  eyes  and  filled  the  room  with  its  glorious  tint.  The 
form  of  the  dying  girl  was  enveloped  in  the  dazzling  splendor 
of  the  setting  orb  which  was  sinking  in  the  west  and  threw 
its  parting  glory  over  the  land  to  cheer  the  hearts  of  the  chil- 
dren of  men,  and  assuring  them  that  it  would  come  again  on 
the  morrow.  Yes,  it  would  indeed  come,  but  never  would  its 
power  be  felt  by  the  one  who  was  now  bathed  in  the  golden 
sheen  of  its  fading  light.  Another  cloud  came  on  in  its  rapid 
course  and  all  was  gloom  once  more.  We  looked  at  Ilian ; 
but  her  spirit  was  gone,  and  we  were  left  to  mourn  her  de- 
parture. Our  tears  were  falling  and  our  hearts  aching  over 
our  loss. 


THE  NEW  FIRM.  357 

CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    NEW    FIRM. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  5th  of  March  a  large  number 
of  friends  and  relatives  were  assembled  in  the  parlor  of  the  hos- 
pital to  pay  the  last  tribute  of  respect  to  Ilian,  whose  name 
was  interwoven  in  the  fibres  of  so  many  hearts. 

A  casket  of  polished  oak,  lined  with  white  satin,  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  apartment.  There  was  none  of  that  rigid  for- 
mality followed  by  so  many  undertakers.  The  face  had  a 
calm  repose  ;  the  beautiful  hair  was  done  up  in  Grecian  coils  ; 
the  body  was  dressed  in  a  white  cashmere  robe,  trimmed  down 
the  front  with  swan's-down.  One  hand  lay  resting  under  the 
head,  and  the  other  held  a  book.  She  looked  like  one  who 
had  been  reading  and  had  fillen  asleep.  Everything  was  so 
natural  that  we  could  hardly  realize  that  from  her  sleep  she 
would  never  awaken  till  the  last  trumpet  should  call  her  to  join 
in  the  great  throng  to  assemble  for  final  judgment. 

I  read  the  first  part  of  the  burial-service.  The  casket  was 
then  covered  and  we  went  to  the  place  where  her  mother's 
form  was  resting  beneath  a  marble  shaft  erected  by  her  daugh- 
ter, and  there,  in  a  place  prepared  for  her  in  the  vault,  we  laid 
away  what  remained  of  the  child  to  sleep  beside  the  one  that 
gave  her  birth.  I  finished  the  last  portion  of  the  service, 
"  Ashes  to  ashes,  and  dust  to  dust,"  and  slowly  we  returned 
to  our  carriages.  Father  Murphy  having  to  go  back  to  his 
home,  I  told  him  that  I  would  drive  with  him  to  the  station. 
Dr.  Rechard  accompanied  us.  As  we  left  the  cemetery,  I  said 
to  them  both, — 

'.'  The  curse  of  the  Old  South  Church  has  been  fulfilled,  and 
we  have  seen  the  last  of  it.  This  curse  has  been  a  regular 
boomerang:  it  came  back  to  the  hand  that  started  it." 

"  I  must  find  out,"  said  the  doctor,  "  what  the  mystery  is 
that  shadows  the  shooting  of  Ilian." 

"  We  can  explore  that  at  once,"  I  said.  "  I  have  in  my 
pocket  th^  letter  which  I  received  from  her,  and  which  was 
not  to  be  opened  till  after  her  death." 


358  ILIAN. 

As  I  took  it  out  of  the  envelope,  I  saw  in  red  ink  the  fol- 
lowing words : 

"  I  will  expect  the  word  of  honor  from  those  who  read  this 
note  or  hear  it  read,  that  they  will  do  nothinsj  to  the  unhappy, 
wretched  man  who  was  primarily  the  cause  of  my  being  shot." 
The  note  was  as  follows :  "  Before  leaving  New  York  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Colonel  Hortense  asking  the  loan  of  money 
enough  to  enable  him  to  leave  the  city  in  order  to  go  to  New 
Orleans.  I  sent  him  one  hundred  dollars,  and  in  two  days 
after  he  wrote  again  asking  for  more.  I  left,  and  came  on  to 
Boston.  John  Rendeem  became  aware  of  this  annoyance,  and 
he  resolved  to  protect  me,  so  he  came  after  me  the  next  day. 
On  the  evening  of  the  last  of  February  he  said,  as  he  was 
leaving  my  hotel, — 

"  '  After  to-morrow  I  do  not  think  that  Colonel  Hortense 
will  annoy  you  any  more  for  money.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean  ?'   I  asked.     '  Is  he  going  away  ?' 

"  '  I  rather  think  he  will  go.' 

"  '  When  does  he  leave  ?* 

'' '  About  half-past  six  to-morrow  morning.' 

"  '  Where  is  he  going  to  ?' 

" '  To  a  place  I  hope  you  and  I  will  avoid.' 

*' '  Tell  me,  John,'  I  asked,  '  are  you  going  to  fight  a 
duel?' 

"  '  I  will  tell  you  when  next  I  call,'  said  he,  and  then  took 
his  leave. 

"  I  suspected  the  truth,  and  ordered  my  carriage  for  six 
o'clock,  and  took  my  maid  with  me,  instructing  my  coachman 
to  drive  to  the  hotel  where  John  was  stopping.  Just  before 
we  arrived  there  my  servant  told  me  that  Mr.  John  Rendeem, 
with  two  gentlemen,  was  then  getting  into  a  carriage.  I 
directed  him  to  follow  them.  We  went  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  city,  where  there  was  a  public  beer-garden  with  a  thick 
clump  of  trees.  It  was  used  only  in  summer,  and  was  closed 
at  this  season.  I  left  my  carriage  and  came  up  unseen  to  the 
place  where  they  were.  Colonel  Hortense  was  already  there 
with  his  second,  and  he  had  a  revolver  in  his  hand.  I  came 
up  behind  him,  and  before  he  knew  it  I  snatched  it  from  him. 
He  turned  around  savagely  and  tried  to  take  the  pistol  away 
from  me.  It  was  self-cocking,  and  in  the  scuflBe  I  must  have 
pressed  the  trigger,  for  it  went  off  as  I  was  holding  it  close  to 


THE  NEW  FIRM.  359 

my  breast  trying  to  keep  it  from  him.  The  bullet  went 
through  me  like  a  bolt  of  hot  iron,  and  I  fell  to  the  ground. 
Fortunately,  one  of  the  gentlemen  present  was  a  surgeon.  He 
stopped  the  bleeding,  and  I  was  driven  in  my  own  carriage  to 
this  hospital  with  the  doctor  and  one  of  the  gentlemen  who 
was  to  act  as  a  second  for  John.  I  have  not  seen  John  since, 
but  was  told  he  had  gone  in  pursuit  of  Colonel  Hortense.  My 
maid  I  made  promise  to  keep  secret  the  true  statement  of  this 
whole  affair,  and  after  my  death  I  desire  it  to  be  hushed  up, 
and  that  man  left  to  his  remorse.  I  am  deeply  sorry  for  John, 
and  want  to  see  him  before  I  die. 

"  He  will  give  the  full  details  of  the  whole  business.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  shooting  was  entirely  accidental.  The 
above  is  a  true  statement. 

"IlIAN    MORDINE." 

After  I  had  read  the  letter  nothing  was  said,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  we  were  at  the  railway  station.  Dr.  Rechard  and 
myself  took  a  warm,  affectionate  leave  of  Father  Murphy,  and 
with  mutual  good  wishes  he  lefc  on  his  train  and  we  drove 
back  to  the  Tremont  House,  where  we  found  all  the  Rendeem 
family,  including  John.  After  dinner  we  retired  to  a  private 
parlor  and  again  read  Ilian's  note.  John  Rendeem  then  arose, 
saying, — 

"  The  statement  which  you  have  just  heard  is  correct.  I 
was  challenged  to  fight  by  Colonel  Hortense.  The  weapons 
chosen  were  revolvers,  each  to  fire  five  shots.  Ilian  came  up 
unexpectedly  as  we  were  about  to  begin.  I  was  not  aware 
that  she  was  so  severely  injured,  as  the  surgeon  told  me  it  was 
only  a  flesh-wound  and  that  he  would  look  after  her.  My 
second  promised  to  assist  him.  The  man  who  acted  for  my 
opponent  disappeared  and  we  saw  nothing  more  of  him.  I 
then  followed  the  colonel,  who  had  taken  up  his  pistol  after 
Ilian  had  dropped  it.  As  he  was  crossing  a  field  I  came 
within  range  and  fired  two  shots,  one  of  which  hit  him  in  the 
leg.  He  fell  at  once,  and  I  rushed  up  to  finish  him,  when  he 
sat  up  and  discharged  two  shots  at  me,  at  close  range,  one  of 
which  went  through  my  left  arm  and  the  other  grazed  my  neck. 
The  villain  then  jumped  up  and  made  off;  but  I  noticed  he 
had  a  perceptible  limp  in  his  gait.  My  wound  not  only 
pained  me  severely,  but  bled  profusely,  and  I  was  obliged  to 


360  ILIAN. 

stop  at  a  farm-house  close  by  in  order  that  it  might  be  band- 
aged. I  procured  a  horse  and  wagon  and  drove  into  the  city, 
where  a  surgeon  attended  to  it.  He  told  me  that  there  was 
no  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  it,  but  I  was  weak  from 
the  loss  of  blood.  I  took  the  first  train  for  New  York  and 
went  to  a  place  where  the  colonel  had  boarded.  He  had  left 
for  Washington  two  hours  before  my  arrival.  I  followed  after 
him,  but  could  find  no  trail  of  the  scoundrel.  I  then  re- 
turned to  Boston,  On  learning  where  Ilian  was  I  went  to 
the  hospital.  When  the  surgeon  in  charge  told  me  of  her 
true  condition,  and  I  saw  her  pale  face  through  the  half-open 
door,  I  felt  that  life  was  not  worth  living  and  I  went  into  a 
vacant  room  to  shoot  myself.  I  pulled  the  trigger  with  the 
pistol  to  my  head,  but  it  did  not  go  off.  Then  the  chaplain 
came  in  and  you  know  the  rest." 

Mrs.  Rendeem  nearly  fainted  when  she  heard  this  state- 
ment. His  lather  came  up  to  him,  and,  with  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  exclaimed, — 

"  John,  if  you  had  died  you  would  have  killed  us  all," 

Edith  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  clung  to  him  as 
though  he  were  about  to  commit  the  deed  afresh.  "  I  do  not 
know,"  continued  John,  "  what  prevented  the  pistol  from 
going  ofi"." 

"  I  know,"  I  replied.  "  You  had  a  five-chambered  revolver 
and  only  three  were  loaded,  and  the  hammer  came  down  on 
an  empty  shell." 

"  I  forgot,  then,  to  put  in  fresh  charges  after  I  had  fired  at 
that  hateful  colonel." 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Dr.  Rechard,  "  that  your  wound  is  no 
worse.  Your  sister  will  make  a  capital  nurse ;  she  told  me  she 
wanted  some  one  to  attend." 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homerand  were  now  announced.  They  had 
come  to  invite  us  all  to  lunch  with  them  on  the  following 
day,  as  we  were  to  return  to  New  York  by  the  Fall  River 
line,  leaving  at  six  o'clock.  We  all  retired  to  our  beds  early, 
and  the  next  day  our  programme  was  carried  out,  many 
friends  coming  to  the  station  to  see  us  off.  Dr.  Rechard  and 
Mr.  Rendeem  were  two  of  the  executors  of  Ilian's  estate,  a 
large  portion  of  which  was  in  New  York  City.  It  was  neces- 
sary, therefore,  that  the  former  should  remain  there  for  a 
month  at  least.      He  accordingly  accepted  a  pressing  invita- 


THE  NEW  FIRM.  361 

tion  to  stay  at  the  Rendeem  home.  They  also  desired  me  to 
come  for  a  few  days,  but  their  house  was  too  full  of  the  asso- 
ciations of  Ilian.  I  pleaded  urgent  business  and  left  them  and 
made  my  way  back  safely  to  my  own  quarters  in  Philadelphia. 

Little  now  remains  to  be  told. 

Two  months  had  passed  since  Ilian's  death.  Twice  during 
this  interval  I  paid  flying  visits  to  New  York.  Each  time  1 
was  the  guest  of  the  Rendeems.  Dr.  Rechard  told  me  that 
it  took  more  time  to  settle  up  the  estate  than  he  had  antici- 
pated. He  seemed  to  be  very  happy,  and  I  was  led  to  sus- 
pect that  the  aifairs  of  a  living  woman  were  occupying  more 
of  his  time  than  those  of  the  one  dead.  Ilian's  memory,  I 
was  well  aware,  would  always  be  green  in  his  heart,  for  she 
had  been  like  a  si.'^ter  to  him.  I  was  not  at  all  surprised, 
therefore,  when  I  received  the  following  letter  from  3Iiss 
Edith  Rendeem  : 

No.  — ,  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  May  3. 

My  dear  Chaplain, — Do  you  remember  last  January 
that  you  gave  me  some  good  advice  about  my  practice  in 
medicine  ?  Having  such  confidence  in  your  sagacity,  I  am 
about  to  follow  it.  You  told  me  to  marry  a  physician,  and  I 
answered  that  such  a  course  was  out  of  the  question.  Then 
you  advised  me  to  go  in  partnership  with  some  old  doctor.  I 
told  this  to  Dr.  Rechard,  and  he  replied  that  "  your  head  was 
level."  He  offered  an  amendment,  however,  viz.,  that  in- 
stead of  an  old  doctor  I  ought  to  take  one  of  medium  age, 
and  he  added  that  he  knew  just  such  a  practitioner.  I  asked 
for  the  name  and  he  wrote  it  on  a  piece  of  paper.  But  as 
the  afternoon  was  cloudy,  I  could  not  read  it  very  well,  so  I 
went  to  the  bay-window  for  a  better  light.  Perhaps  I  was  a 
long  time  in  making  it  out.  He  came  into  the  recess, 
and  remarked  that  I  was  getting  a  little  near-sighted,  and 
he  would  help  me  read  the  name.  I  do  not  know  how  it 
happened,  but  he  said  that  I  was  pale  and  liable  to  faint,  and 
his  arm  got  around  my  waist  to  keep  me  from  falling,  and  I  put 
my  head  on  his  breast.  The  terms  of  partnership  were  set- 
tled then  and  there,  and  the  title  of  the  new  firm  is  to  be 
Dr.  &  Mrs.  Henry  Rechard.  When  this  particular  agreement 
was  referred  to  my  father,  I  told  him  that  I  had  arranged  for 
you  to  have  the  contract  to  perform  the  ceremony.  He  re- 
plied that  he  had  long  ago  promised  it  to  our  own  pastor.  I 
Q  31 


362  ILIAN. 

asked  him  why  he  had  assumed  I  would  ever  get  married  after 
my  constant  assertions  to  the  contrary  ? 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  ''  girls  all  do  that.  Your  mother  acted  that 
way.  However,  the  chaplain  can  assist,  and  I  will  be  glad  to 
have  him  do  so." 

Now,  perhaps  you  will  say  that  women  do  not  know  their 
own  minds.  But  I  do.  I  did  purpose  not  to  marry,  but 
Dr.  Rechard  felt  so  lonely  after  Ilian's  death,  and,  besides, 
he  will  be  a  great  help  to  me  in  my  medical  studies.  He 
left  yesterday  for  New  Orleans  to  arrange  his  business  and 
return  by  the  first  of  June,  the  day  that  we  are  to  be  married. 
We  will  go  to  Boston  for  a  week  and  then  sail  for  Europe  by 
the  Cunard  steamer,  to  be  absent  six  months.  We  hope  to  be 
in  New  Orleans  by  Christmas,  all  settled  in  our  home.  Till  I 
see  you,  au  revoir.     Your  true  friend, 

Edith  Rendeem. 

I  was  on  hand  for  the  wedding  and  took  my  part.  Edith 
was  superb  in  her  white  silk  dress,  veil,  and  orange-blossoms. 
Every  one  remarked  how  splendidly  mated  they  were.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Homeraud  were  both  present,  and  the  bridal  party 
went  to  Boston  as  their  guests.  I  remained  at  the  Rendcem 
mansion  till  their  return,  on  the  morning  of  the  sailing  of  the 
outward-bound  steamer.  It  was  a  splendid  send-off.  More 
than  one  hundred  of  their  friends  were  present.  I  was  the 
last  to  leave  them.  As  1  stood  on  the  gang-plank,  the  doctor 
and  his  wife  both  held  my  hands. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  chaplain.  When  we  return  to  our  home 
in  New  Orleans  we  will  set  apart  one  of  our  spare  bedcham- 
bers for  your  use,  and  it  shall  always  be  known  as  the  '  chap- 
Iain's  room.' " 

The  great  massive  craft  slowly  left  her  dock.  Loud  were 
the  cheers  from  those  on  the  pier,  and  amidst  the  din  and  ex- 
citement could  be  heard, — 

"  A  pleasant  passage,"  "  a  safe  return,"  "  hon  voyage^''  ^^  au 
revoir,'"  "  good-by,"  ''  viva.'' 

With  these  expressions  of  friendship  re-echoing  in  my  ear, 
I  also  take  leave  of  my  readers,  wishing  them  one  and  all  a 
fraternal  greeting. 

United  States  Flag-ship  "  Pexsacola," 
Leghorn,  August  27,  1887. 


THE  FINALE.  363 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FINALE. 

New  Orleans,  September  21,  1887. 

My  dear  Chaplain, — Your  very  interesting  and  doubly 
welcome  letter  of  the  28th  of  August,  from  Leghorn,  has 
been  received,  which  informs  me  that  you  had  just  finished 
writing  the  history  of  Adrien  and  Ilian.  You  mention  that 
you  have  given  my  wife  and  myself  a  friendly  notice  in  the 
pages  of  your  work. 

For  this  we  both  earnestly  thank  you.  I  can  only  repeat 
now  what  I  have  declared  before,  that  you  have  a  very  large 
share  in  our  hearts'  affections. 

In  looking  back  over  my  past  record  in  the  Confederate  ser- 
vice there  is  nothing  that  I  regret.  I  was  born  in  this  State 
and  took  up  arms  at  her  call.  If  I  had  been  born  in  the 
North  I  would,  without  doubt,  have  done  the  same  for  the 
Federal  cause.  I  accepted  without  a  murmur  over  twenty 
years  ago  the  logic  of  events,  and  have  never  had  any  desire 
to  reopen  the  burning  questions  of  those  stormy  days.  It 
may,  perhaps,  be  interesting  to  you  to  know  something  of 
the  later  history  of  a  few  of  your  characters.  Bill  Harrison 
returned  to  New  Orleans  fifteen  years  ago,  financially  ruined. 
With  the  aid  of  a  few  of  his  old  friends  he  bought  back  the 
business  of  the  Grosvenor  House,  and  by  patient  industry  has 
paid  off  all  claims  and  is  the  owner  of  the  place.  Age  and 
misfortunes  have  tamed  his  once  fiery  spirit ;  and  his  wife, 
strange  to  say,  has  lost  her  once  ruling  trait, — viz.,  suspicion  of 
the  designs  of  all  around  her. 

Stern  justice  has  overtaken  the  once  haughty  Colonel  Hor- 
tense.  You  will  remember  that  I  wrote  some  years  ago  and 
told  you  that  about  a  year  after  the  death  of  Ilian  the  colonel 
by  the  death  of  a  relative,  came  into  possession  of  a  small 
income.  He  made  so  much  of  this  event  that  for  a  while  his 
friends  thought  him  a  very  rich  man.  He  at  once  discarded 
the  gambling-table  and  made  many  endeavors  to  marry  a  rich 
wife,  but  in  this  he  failed.  One  day  a  very  pretty  brunette 
widow  came  to  New  Orleans  to  look  after  some  property  of 


364  ILIAN. 

her  late  husband.  It  was  reported  that  she  was  immensely 
wealthy.  All  the  fortune-hunters  were  eager  for  an  introduc- 
tion. Colonel  Hortense  was  most  devoted  in  his  attentions, 
and  to  the  amazement  of  every  one  he  finally  carried  off  the 
prize.  A  month  after  they  returned  from  their  honeymoon 
and  stopped  at  the  St.  Charles  Hotel.  His  wife  sent  me  a 
letter  of  introduction  from  a  highly-esteemed  friend  of  mine 
living  up  the  country,  and  as  she  was  not  very  well,  asked  me 
to  call  and  see  her  professionally.  I  declined  to  visit  her,  as  I 
could  not  bear  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  man  who  had 
caused  liian's  death.  I  referred  her  to  another  physician  ; 
but  she  wrote  me  a  second  note,  and  pleaded  so  earnestly, 
saying  she  preferred  me  to  any  one  else,  that  at  last  I  con- 
sented and  called  at  her  hotel.  I  was  ushered  into  her  parlor. 
The  door  leading  to  her  bedroom  was  slightly  ajar,  and  I  heard 
her  in  conversation  with  her  husband.  She  had  instructed 
him  to  search  for  an  unfurnished  house,  as  her  furniture  was  all 
packed  and  ready  at  her  late  residence  to  be  sent  to  the  city. 
I  will  give  you  the  exact  words  that  I  overheard,  for  the 
colonel  himself  related  it  to  some  of  his  friends,  so  that  I  am 
not  violating  any  confidence  by  telling  you : 

"  Now,  my  dear  Robert,  be  sure  and  get  a  house  with  a 
large  nursery  and  a  good-sized  play-ground  for  the  children." 

"  Nursery  and  play-ground,"  he  responded  in  a  rather 
amazed  tone.  "  Are  you  not  a  little  too  fast  ?  We  may  not 
have  any  children." 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  any  more.  I  have  a  dear  little  baby- 
girl  eighteen  mouths  old." 

"  My  dear  Lucille,  you  never  told  me  of  this  before." 

"  No,  I  am  aware  of  that.  I  wanted  to  surprise  you.  By  the 
way,  before  I  forget  it,  I  wish  you  to  buy  a  large  baby-carriage 
with  two  seats  for  baby's  brother,  who  is  fifteen  months  older, 
and  lame.  They  can  ride  together,  and  I  know  that  you  will 
be  happy  to  take  them  out  every  day  for  an  airing." 

"  Gracious!  you  do  not  mean  that  you  have  two  children." 

"  Two,  did  you  say  ?  That  would  not  make  a  home  lively." 

"  Great  heavens,  Lucille  !  tell  me  at  once  how  many  chil- 
dren your  late  husband  left  behind  him." 

"  Only  six, — three  boys  and  three  girls." 

A  deep  groan  escaped  from  the  colonel,  to  which  his  wife 
responded  in  an  injured  tone  of  voice, — 


THE  FINALE.  365 

"  You  do  not  appear  to  be  liappy  over  tins  information.  I 
think  you  are  very  ungrateful.  Now,  my  dear,  here  comes 
the  doctor;  do  not  forget  the  large  nursery  and  play-ground 
and  baby-carriage  and " 

At  this  point  the  unhappy  colonel  seized  his  hat,  rushed 
out  into  the  hallway,  slamming  the  door  behind  him,  and  mut- 
tering as  he  went  down  the  stairs, — 

"  Only  six  children  !     I  have  been  badly  sold." 

And  sold  he  was  in  many  respects.  The  fiict  transpired 
that  his  wife's  income  was  only  twelve  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  and  the  colonel's  thousand  made  a  sum  total  of  two 
thousand  two  hundred  dollars.  Not  very  much  for  a  couple 
with  extravagant  tastes  and  six  youngsters  to  feed  and  clothe. 

Two  months  after  my  first  visit  I  was  driving  in  the  park 
one  day  with  my  wife.  There  I  saw  the  colonel  pushing  a 
baby-carriage  with  two  children  inside.  A  nurse  was  direct- 
ing his  movements,  and  the  other  four  were  following.  The 
oldest  boy  was  apparently  about  ten  years  old,  and  was 
amusing  himself  by  throwing  stones  at  his  stepfather.  The 
colonel  caught  sight  of  me  as  I  passed  him  and  suddenly 
wheeled  the  little  carriage  around  to  escape  from  my  observa- 
tion. In  so  doing  he  upset  the  occupants.  Their  howls  of 
fright  aroused  the  indignation  of  the  Creole  nurse,  and  she 
immediately  began  to  assault  the  unfortunate  man  with  her 
parasol.  He  made  off  to  escape  from  the  scene  and  two  of  the 
boys  followed  him  for  some  distance,  throwing  stones  at  him. 

It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  he  is  now  ruled  with  an  iron 
hand.  My  wife  remarked  that  the  promotion  from  a  colonel 
of  the  secret  service  of  the  late  Confederate  government  to 
that  of  an  aide-de-camp  to  a  French  nurse-maid  was  not  a 
very  envious  position. 

This  I  call  retributive  justice. 

Colonel  Ormond  is  alive  and  enjoys  a  good  old  age.  His 
wife  still  holds  her  sway  as  a  leader  of  society.  Their  son 
Henry  is  a  very  successful  lawyer. 

The  Burrows  family  are  all  w^ll.  Ned  and  his  sister  are 
married,  and  both  have  children. 

Now  for  the  last,  but  not  least  by  any  means,  of  the  charac- 
ters whose  names  you  have  sent  me.  I  refer  to  Dr.  Samuel 
Andermatt.  After  the  death  of  Professor  Homerand  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  his  brother  Thomas,  stating  that  Sam  was 

31- 


3G6  ILIAN. 

anxious  to  return  to  New  Orleans,  and  that  he  would  be  useful 
to  me  from  his  knowledge  of  medicine.  I  wrote  at  once,  in- 
viting him  to  come,  and  I  would  give  him  employment  and  a 
home. 

Of  course,  I  expected  to  find  him  very  much  improved,  and 
thought  he  would  be  useful  in  my  dispensary.  I  went  to  the 
station  to  meet  him.  Language  fails  me  in  describing  my  in- 
tcnse  surprise.  As  the  train  stopped,  a  dignified  gentleman, 
fashionably  dressed,  of  commanding  appearance,  came  up  and 
greeted  me  warmly.  I  recognized  him,  but  saw  that  there 
was  a  great  change.  I  felt  then  what  I  afterwards  found  by- 
experience,  that  the  careful  training  of  Professor  Homerand 
and  the  advantage  of  foreign  travel  and  attendance  at  some  of 
the  best  universities  of  Germany  had  developed  latent  talents 
of  a  high  order,  and  that  the  man  before  me,  in  spite  of  being 
"  off  color,"  was  a  great  acquisition  to  any  medical  man.  We 
received  him  at  our  home  on  equal  terms,  and  a  month  after 
he  passed  a  severe  examination  in  all  the  departments  of  medi- 
cine and  obtained  his  diploma  of  M.D.  I  took  him  into  part- 
nership on  a  percentage  of  his  work.  In  less  than  six  months 
his  practice  was  not  only  larger,  but  more  lucrative  than  mine. 
Since  that  time  we  have  been  equal  partners.  He  is  now  a 
consulting  physician,  and  is  sought  after  by  the  leading  doctors 
of  this  city  in  critical  cases.  His  mother  keeps  house  for 
him.  The  war  has  produced  many  changes,  but  none  equal 
to  Dr.  Samuel  Andermatt.  When  I  graduated  from  my  uni- 
versity he  was  an  ignorant  slave,  and  to-day  I  am  compelled 
to  acknowledge  him  as  my  peer. 

I  must  bring  this  letter  to  a  close.  You  are  welcome  to 
make  any  use  you  may  see  fit  of  this  letter,  either  as  a  whole 
or  to  select  such  parts  of  it  as  may  suit  your  book. 

My  wife  joins  me  in  best  wishes  for  your  welfare,  and  we 
hope  to  see  you  on  your  return  from  your  tour  of  duty  on  the 
European  station. 

Your  true  friend, 

Henry  Rechard,  M.D. 
Chaplain  Jas.  J.  Kane, 

U.  S.  Frigate  "  Pensacola," 

Flag-ship  of  the  European  Squadron. 
Care  of  B.  F.  Stevens,  U.  S.  Despatch  Agent, 
4  Trafalgar  Square,  London,  England. 


APPENDIX 


The  following  matter  lias  been  inserted  to  afford  some  ex- 
planation of  the  episode  as  recorded  in  the  third  chapter  of 
the  Fifth  Book. 

"  A  plant  grows  in  Mixtecapan,  Mexico,  which  the  natives 
call  the  '  herb  of  prophecy.'  A  dose  of  it  produces  sleep  similar 
in  all  respects  to  the  hypnotic  state.  The  subject  answers 
with  closed  eyes  questions  that  are  put  to  him,  and  is  com- 
pletely insensible.  The  pathologic  state  brings  with  it  a  kind 
of  prophetic  gift  and  double  sight.  On  returning  to  himself 
he  remembers  nothing  of  what  he  has  done." — Boston  Journal. 

That  certain  drugs  and  plants  have  the  power  of  develop- 
ing "  hypnotism"  and  psychic  exaltation  is  a  fact  which  every 
intelligent  person  must  acknowledge.  All  narcotics  are  of 
this  character.  The  devadasis  and  nautch-girls  of  India  drug 
wine  with  seeds  of  stramonium,  and  whoever  drinks  of  it  will 
become  perfectly  unconscious  ;  yet  he  will  often  speak  with 
others,  and  act  as  if  in  full  possession  of  his  senses,  but  will 
lose  remembrance  of  it  all  when  he  awakes.  Gassendi  describes 
a  case  of  vision-seeing  and  prophesying  through  the  use  of 
belladonna.  The  Egyptians  employed  the  inspissated  juice  of 
hemp  (Jiasis)  for  such  purposes.  The  Persians  opened  this 
abnormal  faculty  of  vision  by  the  aid  of  opium.  The  "  witches  " 
of  the  mediaeval  period  greatly  affected  hyoscyamus,  and  Van 
Helmont  produced  the  remarkable  phenomenon  upon  himself 
with  aconite.  Ecstasy,  clairvoyance,  and  catalepsy  were  thus 
developed.  The  body  would  be  cast  into  deep  sleep,  or  even 
apparent  death,  while  the  influence  of  th«  drug  lasted.  It 
is  a  proper  ground  for  judicial  inquiry  whether  the  employ- 
ment of  these  various  narcotic  agents,  now  so  common,  may 
not  sometimes  cause  apparent  death,  and  so  expose  unfortunate 
individuals  to  the  terrible  peril  of  being  buried  alive.  I 
believe  that  this  occurs. 

367 


368  APPENDIX. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  assume,  and  far  less  to  presume,  that 
the  dreams,  ecstasies,  and  prophetic  phenomena  of  these 
abnormal  conditions  are  therefore  solely  the  outcome  and  prod- 
uct of  these  extraordinary  states,  and  of  course  to  be  entitled 
to  no  credit.  I  would  question  them  as  I  would  any  religious 
or  philosophic  dogma,  but  never  dare  to  set  them  aside  with 
scorn.  I  might  as  well  deny  the  existence  of  the  stars  or  other 
objects  that  I  beheld  through  the  crevices  of  the  roof  or  walls 
of^a  house,  or  pretend  that  the  crevices  were  the  producers  of 
the  peculiar  appearances.  It  might  be  well  to  repair  such  a 
house,  but  he  would  be  accounted  a  fool  who  denied  the 
genuineness  of  what  he  saw  through  the  broken  waMs.  So  I 
reason  in  regard  to  the  visions  and  spiritual  phenomena  in 
case  of  persons  rendered  abnormal  by  disease,  drugs,  or  any 
other  cause.  I  would  be  candid  and  value  them  for  what  they 
are  worth. 

In  Plutarch's  Discourse  concerning  the  Dsemon  of  Socrates^ 
the  explanation  of  some  of  these  phenomena  is  attempted. 
The  soul  or  psychic  principle  does  not  leave  the  body,  but 
the  daimonion  or  spiritual  nature  is  in  a  degree  set  free  and 
goes  abroad,  witnessing  many  things,  and  encountering  diverse 
experiences.  AVithout  doubt  the  remarkable  visions  of 
Swedenborg,  Mahomet,  Catherine  of  Sienna,  Boehme,  and 
other  seers  were  examples  of  this  character.  It  is  a  faculty 
that  appears  spontaneously  in  some,  and  may  be  developed  by 
cultivation,  and  sometimes  by  artificial  means,  in  others. — 
Extract  from  a  letter  of  Prof .  Alex.  Wilder^  31. D.,  Newark^ 
New  Jersey. 


THE   END. 


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